Winter
by Kodiak Bear Country
Summary: Sequel to It's Always Autumn in the Old Woods of Despair. After Kate certifies John fit for active duty, an accident threatens his life and leads Kate to reexamine her actions and fitness as a psychologist.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Winter  
Author: kodiak bear  
Cat: Gen  
Rating: T  
Warnings: Angst-fest  
Summary: This is the aftermath of It's Always Autumn in the Old Trees of Despair. After Kate certifies John fit for active duty, an accident threatens his life and leads Kate to reexamine her actions and fitness as a psychologist.

AN: This story takes place in season 2. My intention was to show John's progression in accepting the feelings he admitted to in season 3 (Sateda, particularly), and in part, to fit within that sequence of his realization. Also, if you have not read Autumn, this story will not make much sense. Special thanks as always to my wonderful betas: linzi, shelly, tazmy and sholio.

AN2: Autumn is about to undergo further edits, so if you do go to read this story, I apologize for the mistakes therein. When I re-read the story to prepare to write the tag, there was one chapter in particular that had a number of typos.

Also, I just wanted to give a **huge thank you** to those of you reading my stories and leaving feedback. I'm not so good at replying individually here (I do far better on my journal), but I appreciate it immensely. I'm continuing to work on my goals of finishing up promised projects. This story was first on that list, next will be to finish the two incompletes posted, so look for those to be finished soon!

**Autumn tag: Winter**

"_What if I don't want the journey?"_

_John watched Naem from his position on his side, only his face and hair visible under the coverlet. He looked young, vulnerable, and Naem felt a pang of regret as he answered, "Kings are never given a choice." _

_--_ excerpt from It's Always Autumn in the Old Trees of Despair

OoO

"What happened?"

Kate had to jump to the side or get run over by the gurney. Three techs pushed the bed bearing Colonel Sheppard quickly from the gate room, into the hall, heading towards the infirmary.

Clustered around the gate, the medical debris from stabilization still littering the floor by their feet, stood the remnants of Sheppard's team, looking shell shocked. She could see enough to know that whatever had happened to John was serious: the spatter of blood on Rodney and Ronon, even Teyla.

Carson touched Kate gently on the arm, steered her from the dramatic scene, and said, "I'll brief you on the way."

OoO

Kate pushed a hand against the papers ruffling in the breeze that blew up from the ocean below. Seeing how the day was beautiful, her office stuffy, she'd decided to take the five folders outside to the balcony with a cup of coffee and do her notes and planning while basking in the warmth of the sunlight, rather than hunched over her desk.

She didn't have any pressing appointments this afternoon. And really, her absence wasn't likely to be noticed by anyone. Being a psychologist tended to be isolating, especially in a group of people like those she found herself amongst.

Military members – they were a guarded bunch as a majority, always worried that her short conversations meant something more.

Civilian scientists – they either were guarded, or far too open, taking even her small greeting as a segue to talking about their nightmare last night, and did she think it meant anything?

Inhaling the salted air, she pulled her eyes off the horizon and forced her attention back to the open file on her lap. Carson Beckett. One of the five stranded on Arstaem, and someone she knew very well. They often consulted on medical and mental ramifications regarding not only the entire expedition, but in particular, those members who belonged to off-world teams. They were the ones on the front lines, so to speak, always searching for any help they could find in potential allies and abandoned technology. What they often found was trouble, and with a lot more consistency then they found any of the former.

She uncapped her pen, and started on her treatment plan.

_**Carson Beckett will most likely talk openly about his experiences on Arstaem, services should revolve around offering support. He will need someone to listen. In addition to one hourly session a week, will advise Carson to confide in a friend as he feels the need arise. **_

**_Concerns – find out if Carson has anyone he feels close enough to, outside of the other four who were on Arstaem with him, that he can openly confide in. If he admits a lack thereof, increase counseling sessions to twice a week, perhaps three times if I see evidence of the increase being necessary._**

**_Watch for changes in appetite, general malaise, irritability; in general, signs of depression. Post traumatic shock not clinically likely as the physical trauma for Carson occurred in the beginning with the drugging and capturing, along with Teyla's beating. I have not heard the entire story as of yet, but preliminary interviews revealed that there was almost a sense of settling in after the initial difficulties. I fear that the greatest trauma came with the rescue of Colonel Sheppard. I am worried about how Carson will cope with the revelation of Colonel Sheppard's true circumstances._**

**_My tentative outlook – Carson will most likely require limited care and supervision. Offer support, observe for a period of thirty days, then re-evaluate with a possible release of care._**

She shut the folder, feeling confident that Carson wouldn't be a difficult case. As a doctor, he understood the signs of depression. Also, Carson was more open with his emotions than others, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to be handling him with care. Sometimes the ones you least expected to turn inside out, did. Human beings were far from predictable.

Tired, she let her head rest against the wall. The balcony here was less popular, which was precisely why Kate had created her refuge here instead of on one of the others. Almost everyone on the expedition made their way at some point to a balcony; staring out at the vastness of water that stretched until sky and water met, it made you feel small and vulnerable, yet it often gave a sense of peace. A contradiction that, for whatever reason, helped the men and women keep it together. It was therapeutic, and it wasn't much of a surprise that she took note of the human patterns of balcony migration. Another tool to help her do her job, to keep the minds of Atlantis as healthy and whole as one could expect, considering the circumstances.

Which brought her back to why she was sitting on the balcony. Right now, Sheppard was somewhere in the city, probably alone. Maybe McKay was with him. Looking at her wrist, Heightmeyer realized their first session had been only two hours ago. She'd scheduled consecutive meetings with all five and went through the first three, took a short break, then finished with the final two: Carson and John.

Now she was writing up her observations and plans.

She'd finished four, with one to go. Taking a sip of her coffee, Kate shifted Carson's file to the deck, and pulled John's on her lap, opening it and staring at the basic facts she'd already noted. Most of what she had was secondhand information from Teyla and Carson. Teyla had given her the most to go on about what had occurred while Colonel Sheppard had been in Naem's hands, whereas Carson had been focused mainly on the physical condition.

_**Colonel Sheppard endured both psychological and physical torture at the hands of King Naem. The effects I anticipate are both multi-layered, and possibly devastating.**_

**_My concerns are that his normal taciturn personality trait will assert itself, and the depth of degradation and pain will be internalized. In that situation, I expect to see nightmares, weight loss, fatigue, irritability or withdrawal from normal activities. Most likely as time passes, without successful intervention, explosive outbursts will occur and a gradual decline in the colonel's mental health._**

**_Panic attacks have already manifested on the physical side of PTSD, clearly the emotional toll will be high. The main objective is twofold. Colonel Sheppard needs to accept that the abuse at Naem's hand is not his fault. Psychologically speaking, the twisting of emotions he endured has me concerned the most. I will speak with his team and try to get them to subject John to healthy expressions of caring. Touch without pain, support without fear of reprisals or loss of caring._**

_**As noted in earlier sessions, John has an inability to form close relationships due to a series of events in his childhood, and a poor relationship with his surviving parent. **_

_**I feel it is crucial to work with John and his team so that together they can not only heal, but show John that he has many people who do love, care and support him.**_

**_Treatment – Three hourly private sessions and two hourly sessions a week with Teyla, Carson, Rodney and Ronon as a group, for a total of five hours per week for the first two weeks. Close physical monitoring, a preventative anti-depressant, possible options; sleeping aids and nutritional support as needed. Discuss with Carson anti-depressant that will also help with panic attacks and anxiety._**

_**Recommendation that Colonel Sheppard not be returned to active duty until further notice, a period of time undetermined.**_

OoO

Rodney McKay was furious, his uncharacteristic rage focused squarely on Kate. "You said he was fine, ready to return to active duty." With a shaking finger, McKay pointed at the colonel, intubated, monitors beeping the only proof that he still lived, a thin sheet all that stood between them and his naked body full of too many tubes.

"He was," she defended.

"Then you're even less of a real scientist than Carson."

With no chance for a rebuttal, McKay stormed through the open doors. He left behind a heavy cloud of emotion that seemed to have a life of its own. Teyla and Ronon sat on a bed across from Sheppard, their own eyes carrying accusations. Kate raised a shaking hand to brush away the hair that had dropped over her eye, obscuring her vision. It was a nervous habit she'd had since she was little, and when she caught herself doing it again, she forced her hand down.

Colonel Sheppard was in a coma; unless a miracle was found, the machines were only preventing the inevitable. For a psychologist, Kate was sure she wasn't facing reality like she'd have advised any of her patients. This was John in that bed, a man so full of life he vibrated with the passion simmering underneath.

By the time she had signed him off on active status, Kate had considered him a friend. At first, John had been reluctant, withdrawn, difficult…but after six weeks and a lot of hard won progress, he'd been willing to talk. He'd stopped avoiding his team and though she'd insisted he remain on the medications for another month or two, all indications were that the best possible outcome had happened.

Looking at the figure in the bed, Kate realized she'd never been more wrong.

OoO

"You know, this really isn't necessary."

Kate had to work at keeping the smile from her lips and eyes. They were in her office, their second solo therapy session, and Colonel Sheppard was as uncomfortable as she had guessed he'd be. Despite the shadowed, tired eyes that spoke of his hardship, John Sheppard had said the one thing Kate could've predicted with 100 accuracy.

She leaned forward, hands clasped. "Humor me."

Laconically, he relaxed further back, slinging an arm to the side of the chair. "I already am."

"By coming here?"

"That," Colonel Sheppard agreed. "And this." He straightened enough to retrieve a bottle of pills from his pants, holding them aloft and rolling the label back and forth for her to read. "And here I thought it was milk that did a body good."

She had known it would be difficult.

John Sheppard was a dynamic man – always moving, always changing on the surface, adapting. When many of the expedition had struggled with initial depression and anxiety after the rocky arrival on Atlantis, and subsequent discovery of how dire the situation was, Sheppard had thrown himself into the efforts of settling in with a vitality and dedication that had given Kate more cause to worry than any of the above.

John Sheppard lived under the motto of, "If you can't change the past, make damn sure you take care of the future."

What worried her then and still did now -- would John stop long enough to realize that he was just as much a part of Atlantis' future as those he fought to protect?

She knew he didn't truly realize the precipice he stood on now. He wasn't the psychologist – she was.

"Think of them as," Kate fished for an appropriate military term, "suppressive fire."

He chuckled humorlessly, but stuck them back in his pocket.

The window behind her was open, letting in the early morning breeze. The gauzy white curtains fluttered and whipped, and Kate noted John's eyes focusing on them. Watched his mind go somewhere else.

"Where are you, Colonel?"

Attention snapped back, and he narrowed his eyes at her. "Atlantis." The dry humor didn't quite make it into his tone.

Kate swiveled and stared pensively at the curtains, rising from her chair. She moved to the window and lifted the cloth, fingering it in her hand before fixing a look on John. "This caused you to remember something – from your time on Arstaem?"

Irritation replaced his lazy sprawl. "It doesn't matter. Last I checked, not even Freud considered curtains an important part of the ego."

"No, he didn't." She smiled warmly. In a way, Kate felt invigorated by John. "But certain objects have the ability to bring memories to the surface; to cause flashbacks." Without asking, she shut the window to eliminate the snapping of material in the wind. "Part of certifying you ready for active duty requires us to eliminate any hurdle that might affect you in the field." She returned to her chair and lost the smile. "Colonel, if you are in a tense situation off-world, and get distracted by the whipping sound of a curtain – if you get thrown into a flashback, valuable time might be lost, time in which the situation might deteriorate. If I'm to help you, I need you to be honest. To open up about something as harmless appearing as a curtain fluttering in a breeze."

Iron rods stiffened his limbs, but it was liquid copper in his eyes. He looked away, staring to the side of her face and avoiding eye contact. "The house…where I stayed, there were a lot of curtains…like those. Except they were black. It wasn't anything important, I just thought about the time I met…"

"You met Naem," she finished for him. Kate wasn't going to leave everything on his shoulders. She could see the struggle on his face to open up about what he considered to be such a trivial issue. But in that one sentence, he had told her so much. _Where I stayed. _Not, "Where I was kept". _ It wasn't anything important. _He didn't admit that importance was irrelevant to effect. The curtains might have been unimportant, but the memory they evoked was anything but.

For a moment, empathy for the proud man forced her to swallow hard.

Sometimes, the benefits of living and working with your prospective patients also could swing the pendulum the other way. The fact that she _did_ know John Sheppard in his regular state; that she respected and admired the man immensely for what he had done and continued to do, for all of those in the expedition; for all the lives he'd saved by risking his; it made it all the harder seeing him like this

And now he sat before her, broken. The same spirit shone through the shattered pieces, and it was her job to put him back together. To guide him in patching the cracks and making them sturdy enough to take the beating that was sure to come in the future. One thing Kate knew for certain: this wouldn't be the last time John and his team would face tragedy and pain.

He nodded, meeting her gentle look.

"Yeah," he agreed quietly. "When I met Naem."

OoO

The infirmary didn't have an official waiting area, or a conference room. Carson's office wasn't even big enough to fit more than a few people at a time, and they would be cramped at that, which is why they had gathered in the main patient bay. John's team sat on gurneys, while Kate hovered by a chair, uncertainty keeping her from sitting. Arms crossed, Elizabeth leaned against the wall; beside her, Carson mirrored her pose.

After Rodney had left, Elizabeth had given him time to regroup before calling him back. Now, she wanted answers. "How did this happen?" For a demand, it came out weak and weary, lacking strength. Lines of exhaustion marred her eyes.

Kate was well aware that Elizabeth was struggling with insomnia, and twelve hours after John had returned in the arms of his team, more dead than alive, she hadn't had a chance to even try and rest.

Rodney's earlier rage had disappeared, but only from the surface. It simmered underneath. "A mistake," he snapped. "A stupid, idiotic mistake."

When he didn't elaborate, Elizabeth raised an eyebrow towards Teyla.

Silence descended, but Kate realized Teyla wasn't going to answer, because she wasn't aware of the question. She was staring at the door that led to Critical Care, and from the unfocused expression, if Kate had to guess, she'd say Teyla wasn't even in the room with them right now. She was in there, with John.

"Colonel Sheppard's mistake?" Kate had to ask, though the words tasted dreadful, Rodney's earlier accusation still fresh in her mind.

Rodney almost looked delighted that she'd asked. Savagely, he said, "Not Sheppard's -- _yours_."

"Rodney!" Elizabeth unfolded from the wall, censure mixed with concern. "We're all professionals – let's remember that, please. Now, again, what happened?"

"It's fine, Elizabeth," Kate assured her. She was a big girl, and if she was to blame for John's condition, then she could well understand Rodney's emotional onslaught. "Please, Rodney, explain."

Rodney slid off the gurney, grabbing his tac vest that he'd abandoned earlier. Kate realized he was going to leave, retreat like he'd taken to doing so many times during his recovery from Arstaem and since they'd gated home with John's limp body. Which was why she was surprised when he started to explain. "We stumbled on another culture with rituals bordering on the asinine. Surprise, surprise, who do you think freaked out when a chief just happened to hold out a ceremonial spoon and demand Sheppard to 'open'? Hmmmm?" Rodney's angry finger flung back at the door leading into critical care, the same way he'd done earlier, and he snarled, "One guess – he's lying in there, currently fighting for his life – does that help clarify the situation?"

He didn't wait around for Kate to reply. His disgusted look conveyed clearly he didn't care about an apology and he wasn't waiting around to hear if one was forthcoming. Instead, he strode angrily through the outer doors leading into the corridor, doing just as she'd predicted moments before.

Ronon threw Kate a dark look, then grabbed his gear and jogged after Rodney.

"I…" Kate was rarely at a loss for words, but in this case, could there possibly be a right thing to say?

"He is angry." Teyla's eyes had pulled away from the door but she wasn't quite making eye contact with Kate. "Seeing John --"

"Teyla," prompted Elizabeth, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose while she fought against the tension headache Kate could read loud and clear, "what happened?"

Though Elizabeth was looking at Teyla, Teyla wasn't looking at Elizabeth. Her eyes skirted to the door, then locked with Kate's, and this time Kate knew she wasn't going to hold anything back.

"Rodney explained correctly…" Her jaw hardened. "There was a ritual meant for the leaders of both parties to demonstrate trust and openness. In the ceremony, each leader feeds the other from their hand; it is meant to represent faith and goodwill – belief that the other leader means no wrong. They did not know of our ignorance with their customs, and John had no prior warning. I believe his reaction was reflexive – one of the chief's guards mistook his move as a threat --"

"I…I didn't know that John would react --" Could this really be her fault? Could she have prematurely certified Colonel Sheppard ready for active duty?

"Kate, no one is blaming you --" Carson started.

"Rodney is," Kate reminded him dryly. "And perhaps with good reason." She folded her arms around her chest and tried to walk back through the sessions, the progress, and find one hint, one moment in her memories, that could've served as a warning beacon against John's reaction. She looked away from Teyla, Elizabeth, and Carson, and stepped up to the doors, looking through them and at the still body surrounded by machines; the edges of a thick, white bandage peeked from underneath the green sheet.

Had she truly failed? Was his condition her fault?

What had she missed?

OoO

The room reflected planning the five dejected figures would never consciously notice. As they filed in, she saw them search for a place to sit, then watched as surprise settled in over the fact that there weren't any chairs in the room.

Clasping her hands in front of her waist, Kate shrugged her shoulders forward slightly toward the pillows. "Please, find one that appeals, and get comfortable. The floor is softer than it looks, I promise."

Maybe it had been a gym in the days of the Ancients. Maybe it had been a therapy room. Or maybe the Ancients just had a thing for soft floors. Either way, it was wall to wall padded softness… not exactly carpet, but a soft foamy substance with a layer of spongy plastic-like coating to keep the floor from being shredded. It conformed to the body, let one sink low and be supported at the same time.

They were dressed loosely in clothing that signified their restricted status. Rodney wore an unbuttoned shirt over a gray tee, dirty jeans, and his feet sans shoes were clad with socks in need of bleach. He scowled at the floor, at Kate, and then chose the purple pillow. Interesting.

Teyla wore an Athosian outfit that Kate had often seen her wear during sparring. Sometimes Kate wandered around the city, floating through the personnel to observe them in their normal activities. If you didn't know what normal was, how could you be certain of abnormal? Most psychologists on Earth only saw their patients when conditions had progressed to the latter stage, but knowing the former offered tremendous clinical insight. Teyla took the green pillow.

Ronon seemed unsure at first, surprising Kate, but then with a single-mindedness that seemed bent on burying his earlier hesitation, he chose the large brown one near Teyla. He didn't sit on it, but chose to lean his upper body into the oversized pillow, while he let his legs stretch out in front of him. He was the only one wearing the same clothes he wore every day. The notable difference – no visible weapons, a request from Elizabeth that had originated with Kate.

Sheppard and Carson had entered last. They were also last to choose a pillow. Carson flopped on the red, dressed in jeans that didn't look much cleaner than Rodney's, and a soft butter yellow t-shirt. His feet were bare after he left his shoes at the door, like the others had before.

Sheppard seemed momentarily confused by the set-up. He was the only one who looked Kate in the eye. She held her breath, sensing a refusal skirting underneath the colonel's lazy posture, and she let it out when he curled his mouth into a smile that said everything for him, and chose the blue. Bare feet, black t-shirt that looked military issue, and blue track pants. He looked irascible, withdrawn and haunted, all at the same time.

These five individuals were in her care, and would be for the foreseeable future. Their physical wounds were mostly healed. Emotional wounds were not so easily recovered from. She'd wanted this room in particular to help identify their needs, their moods. The multi-colored pillows that they assumed were decoration were far more than that.

Color studies were popular in earlier years, though not so much now, but Kate happened to believe they bore merit. In the 1940's Max Luscher had identified eight colors that could tell a subject's stress level and psychological make-up. While Kate wouldn't go so far as to believe all his theories were accurate, some color therapy had been used with success in the past, and here she found it interesting when paired with the five's choices. She had decorated this room after the first Siege on Atlantis. In the year since, it'd proved valuable.

It told Kate that her basic assumptions on the personalities of those in the room still held true, despite their recent ordeal. It also told her who was more stressed. But again, it wasn't a surprise.

"Before we get started," Kate began, settling down on another red pillow, "I'd like to explain that while this is group therapy, I don't expect you to confess your deep and darkest secrets in front of your teammates and friends." She purposefully kept her eyes away from Colonel Sheppard. "We are here to discuss what happened on Arstaem, share experiences --" Kate made an abortive gesture at Sheppard. "You were separated from your team for a great deal of time and I'm under the impression that none of you have a clear picture of what occurred on either side of the situation."

"I'm pretty sure we get the gist of it now." Rodney's sour expression betrayed much more than he was aware. Kate considered the others. Teyla looked upset. Ronon was secluding himself, boxing up emotions inside and Kate could swear she could see it even as it was happening inside of the Runner. Carson grimaced, and shot a guilty look towards Sheppard. And Sheppard stared stonily at her. As if to say, "See, Doc, we aren't going to be easy."

"Why don't you tell me the _gist_, Rodney?" Kate figured Rodney was as good of a person to start with as anyone. Teyla would've been too tentative, Ronon monosyllabic. Rodney was likely to spout off and say the most, and with enough bitterness to initiate the others into further exposition. Carson would've replied, but he wouldn't do so in a manner that would inflame the others, and Sheppard wasn't likely to give her a straight answer for weeks, and that was if she was lucky.

Rodney's anger rapidly diminished, leaving him floundering. For all his anger, Kate knew he wasn't ready to put words out there in front of everyone. He slid an embarrassed look at Sheppard, but Sheppard wasn't connecting with Rodney. No, Colonel Sheppard was practicing being one with the floor.

Well, she hadn't expected the first group session to be a breeze.

"I'll start, then," offered Kate. "Naem separated you four from Colonel Sheppard from the beginning. He tried to isolate the colonel, and tear him down only to rebuild him into the heir of Arstaem, and in the process, he used methods passed down from generation to generation …methods that our world considers particularly brutal and abusive. Am I getting this right?"

"You have neglected to mention how we were led to believe John was living well, and being treated kindly."

Kate's attention left Rodney, and focused on Teyla, her soft-spoken statement coming subdued and unexpected. Kate had believed Teyla would wait, observe, and then contribute. "I did," Kate admitted.

"What – did you think it wasn't important?" demanded Ronon.

"No, that wasn't it at all."

"Of course it isn't," Rodney broke in. "Ronon, this is all part of the routine. She's purposefully leaving out information so that we'll speak up, begin talking." The blue eyes had a new hardness that made Kate shiver. "Pathetic, really, now that I think about it."

The bitterness was tangible. This was a Rodney McKay who she had never seen. In their previous sessions, he had been a man needing someone to listen to his fears, and someone to offer him reassurance that his feelings were normal. Maybe, once, after the events on Doranda, she had caught a glimpse of how angry he could be, but then it had been tempered by the sobering realization that he'd come close to letting himself and Colonel Sheppard die. One moment more and they wouldn't have made it out alive.

"Rodney, that isn't fair!" protested Carson. "Kate's trying to help us move through what happened, and there's no need to be nasty about it."

"I don't know, Doc, I think Rodney's got it right for once." Sheppard didn't look at Carson, or Rodney. Instead, he looked pointedly at Kate.

"Thank you, Colonel…wait a minute…once? What's that supposed to mean?"

Teyla leaned closer to Rodney and enunciated, "That you are prone to making misjudgments."

"Leave McKay alone. He's just saying what we're all feeling."

"Do you believe that, Ronon?" Kate asked. Or, she tried to. Her question was overrun by Carson's, "You've got that right, Love – Rodney's got no leg to stand on right now."

But Sheppard didn't agree and before Kate could call a halt to the comments, he interrupted with, "From where I'm sitting he's got two legs to stand on."

Flushed, Teyla frowned. "Kate is only trying to help us."

"I didn't ask for her help," Ronon said flatly.

"Damn straight, big guy." Sheppard's agreement came with enough emotional undertone to make Kate wince.

"You didn't ask to be rescued either, but I'm sure you appreciated it nonetheless." Carson's fists were clenched in his lap, his nostrils flared with the angry, deep breaths he was taking. He stared accusingly at Sheppard. "Just once, Colonel, you could've said something about what was happening to you. A whispered word, anything, so that we could've done _something_."

"What are you implying, Carson – that I wanted to be stuck in that…"

"You know better than to believe any such thing! Think, for just one moment, think! You're not going to get up and walk away from what you went through with a band-aid on your back and a note in your medical record. It goes much deeper than that this time."

Five subdued, dejected figures fell quiet now, and Kate suddenly wished for the arguing to return, because at least then they looked alive. Ready to fight. Now, they simply looked defeated by Carson's words.

OoO

_**Interlude: Rodney**_

John was sitting in the gym, alone. The bench by his side was cluttered with his abandoned red boxing gloves and white wrist tape, but he wasn't cleaning up, or getting ready for round two. He just sat there, staring out the stained-glass window.

For a minute, Rodney paused in the doorway.

Should he go, let John have his privacy – or was this one of those times where a friend was supposed to intrude? It's just…Rodney hadn't really done the friend thing, at least not much. And he couldn't ever say he'd been any good at it.

He'd definitely failed on Arstaem. And he hated the bitter taste of failure.

"What'd you need, Rodney?"

Well, decided for him, then. Maybe it was just as well. Rodney pushed his hands into his pockets, feeling awkward. And annoyed. "You know what I need."

Slowly, John's head rolled, his eyes reluctantly pulling away from the scenic view through warped glass and finding Rodney. He looked tired –

"Are you getting any sleep at all?" Rodney asked, moving in. "Because you look like crap."

John chuckled mirthlessly and turned back to the window.

So, this was going well.

Rodney slapped a fist nervously against his palm, and looked around. A punching bag swung in small concentric circles – John hadn't stopped exercising long ago, apparently. Yet, sliding a look at him, Rodney could tell he wasn't breathing hard.

He steadied his nerve and walked to the bag, stilling its motion with his hands on either side. Rodney wished it was as easy to fix this…thing…this fracture in their friendship. Rodney had never set out to think the worst of John, or to hold circumstances against him. It was just – there in the village -- they'd been drugged, humiliated, reviled. Teyla had suffered, _they_ had suffered, and Rodney hadn't been able to do _anything_. And all the while, they'd been led to believe that John was literally enjoying the royal treatment.

The room was too quiet. Muffled; the padding on the floor dampening sounds. Rodney eyed the door around the bag, thinking maybe a strategic withdrawal was the best option.

"Look --"

"Sheppard --"

They stared at each other. John slid his legs to the floor and waved a hand at Rodney. "Go ahead." He started picking up the scraps of tape and balling them together.

_Yeah, go ahead, Rodney_. Crap. This was…hard. Humble. He'd pushed John since they'd been back, and he had enough regret over that, too. "Okay, I will." He pulled away from the support he took from the stupid stuffed bag. Probably just plunging in and saying what he had to say was what Rodney needed to do.

"I screwed up." He didn't want to look John in the eyes but somehow he found the guts to do it. Rodney could be a lot of crappy things – impatient, irritable, rude, arrogant… but he shoved himself through life, and he didn't wallow. "I'm a negative person, you knew that. I…I might have…believed some things that weren't…that were out of character, and I just…" he fumbled. God…this was hard. Why was this so hard? They were just words. "We're good, right? I mean – I need to know that you'll still have my back when we're out there. And I need you to know that I won't just have your back, I'll be washing it for the next year or two…to make up for this. Maybe…okay, six months, a year's a little excessive…"

John rolled himself off the bench and shoved the ball of tape and gloves into his bag. "I'll have your back, Rodney."

Rodney nodded. He felt like he'd lost something though. "And we're still --"

"Friends?" John paused in zipping the bag.

Something inside Rodney iced over. "I…I'd …uh, hoped."

He tended to be negative. Possibly cowardly, at least in his previous life, which counted as anything before Atlantis… He knew he was emotionally closed off from stuff like this…or rather, he used to be. Stiffening, Rodney nodded tightly at John. He'd guessed it might end like this. Fine. He could handle it. "Well, I guess that's it…I'll see you at our session." Kate was waiting to pick at their barely-healed scabs.

He aimed for the door, not trusting himself to spare another look at John. The cost was too high.

When John's hand caught his shoulder, stopping him, Rodney found himself doing it anyway.

"Rodney – I've lost too many friends to let something like this…it was a mistake. I could've said something…let you know, but I didn't." John grimaced and tried to stand taller than he was.

Rodney nodded. "Right." He nodded again, gaining strength, relief. "We all kind of…screwed up, right? It's just…"

It's just that John was the one to pay the highest price.

"Look, we're getting through it. Six months from now, this will just be a bad memory and an infrequent nightmare." John slung an arm around Rodney's shoulders, offering nothing more than emotional support. "Come on, group therapy in ten, and I've got to shower or there'll be a lot more misery than usual."

As they headed for the transporter, Rodney had to ask, "So, does boxing really help? I have this incredible urge to hit things lately…"

OoO

The curtains – the curtains had been a clue. Where there's smoke, there's fire, and she had missed it.

A soft misting rain tickled against her face.

Kate stared across the leaden, gray sky, and thought there couldn't be a better match for the current mood in the city. John was dying.

Angry, tumultuous thoughts raced through Kate's mind. How could she have missed such a crucial issue? How could she have sent him through that 'gate, with a gun held to his head?

Rodney was furious with her. Teyla, reserved. Ronon wouldn't talk, and maybe that was for the best. She saw the accusations in their faces, even Elizabeth and Carson, though their words denied the truth of what she saw.

The weapon used was a burrowing agent. The projectile, once fired at a body, entered through the skin and began sniffing out the victim's neural pathways. It obliterated them as it went, and soon it'd find John's major neural net – his brain. And when it did, he'd die. It was a simple as that.

So far, Carson had nothing to counteract the agent. Once in the body, it broke down into components, acting like focused napalm. It was targeting John's nervous system and burning him up from the inside. Despite the fervent apologies on behalf of the people on Edalla, there was no cure. Like most weapons, once triggered, there was no going back.

The soldier that had fired was being held on his world, awaiting punishment depending on John's outcome, but how do you rightly punish someone for a tragic accident – a misunderstanding?

Kate's clothes were damp, her t-shirt clung to her skin, and her hair hung limply around her face, but she simply didn't care. She felt numb and detached. She had never failed before. She had always done her best and she'd truly managed to help those under her care, and always had the best possible outcomes. Other than Michael. And for that, she hadn't blamed herself, because there wasn't exactly a how-to class in counseling a wraith-turned-human.

But the rest, she'd done everything she could to help them. To keep them well, and on their feet.

Clutching the rail, Kate thought about the few she'd had to certify unfit for duty and had recommended they be sent home to Earth.

Had she considered it for John, only to toss it aside because of who John was?

Had she let her medical opinion be swayed by the expectations and needs of those around John?

Truth could be a bitter pill to swallow.

OoO

When Kate followed John out the Jumper's rear hatch and into the burgeoning outskirts of the Arstaem camp, she was surprised. It had only been a little over three weeks since these people had been resettled, yet the camp looked like it'd been a work in progress for triple that time.

Temporary tents were surrounded by partially built log homes. Stone was being quarried and ready for fireplaces. On the horizon, she could see where forest was being cleared. Stumps were being seeded with the techniques that had been taught to the people before Naem had kidnapped John and his team and blocked Arstaem's 'gate. Soon, those fields that had given lumber for homes would give them food.

These people were, if nothing else, efficient.

A bald-headed man wearing a soiled blue tunic strode towards them. "Majesty," he greeted, moving to his knee, dipping his head and then rising in a fluid motion so smooth it was over before it started. Kate gathered it was as practiced and routine to them as handshakes, bows, and kisses were on Earth. "I'm relieved you came as promised."

John roughly shook his head. "I'm not your king, Joros. I'm not Jaem. Quit with the Majesty stuff."

Joros -- Kate had read about him in the reports. And seen him briefly when he had come to the city yesterday, requesting John return to the settlement. Joros had been a personal guard to the royal family, and also a member of the group that had acted in secret to winnow heirs and pick leaders for succession. John's report had given the man's name, his acts, and nothing else – yet Kate was seeing far more in this meeting. Mutual respect, loyalty from Joros, and wariness from John.

This was a meeting she had never wanted. Elizabeth had called Kate to come to her office. Joros had returned with Lorne after a scheduled check-in to see how the Arstaemians were doing. By the time she arrived, Joros was accusing Elizabeth of interfering and insisting that their king see to his duties. John had been stiff-lipped for most of the exchange.

It was after Kate arrived that Joros asked for privacy to talk with John. Neither Kate nor Elizabeth wanted to give him that option, but John was still in possession of his faculties and allowed to make his own decisions. He'd agreed, and whatever Joros had said made a difference.

A man had apparently committed a crime and the Adjudicates recommended Lumival for the duration of his life, but John had ordered them to leave those practices behind, to stay buried with the last of the royal line. Kate knew John hadn't fully realized what he'd asked of the Arstaemian people. To walk away from the only life they knew. Crime and punishment would not be easily solved when their entire system was denied to them.

Kate had felt a small seed of sympathy, but when Elizabeth had asked, she had still recommended John not go. It was too soon. Atlantis could send another in his place, and Kate had pointed out that there was one very capable diplomat standing in front of her.

Of course, that was the wrong thing to say in front of John. His hands had tightened by his side. "_John_ is a big boy and can make his own decisions."

"John --"

"No, Elizabeth. This is _my_ choice, not yours, or Kate's."

John had looked visibly shaken but he'd insisted on going, regardless of the arguments she'd presented against it – the reasons why it was a potentially dangerous situation. He was still battling panic attacks, and suffering from insomnia. Nightmares. Returning to the hub of what was left of Arstaem so soon was like getting bitten once, and sticking your hand back in the jar for another.

Kate wished she believed John was going because he wanted, or needed to, and not just because she'd recommended against it. Elizabeth had insisted John wait until the day after, giving him time to consider the ramifications. Joros had returned to the mainland on another Jumper scheduled to visit the Athosians later that afternoon.

Of course, John hadn't changed his mind. He'd dressed in his usual uniform. One he hadn't worn since coming back through the 'gate after Naem had died. He'd lost some weight, but it mostly fit him. If anything, she sensed he was pulling strength from the familiarity of the fabric.

"King John, or King Jaem – you are the king, regardless." Joros' deep rumbling voice broke into Kate's memories and brought her back to the present. She wanted to feel anger towards this man for what he represented, only because psychologically, it was healthy. To resent those that did harm to people you cared for – and Kate cared for John. There was something deep inside her that responded to him and his pain, and all she wanted to do was hold him close even while she opened him up with surgically precise questions. It was a growing source of discomfort for her.

"Joros Caelan, I'm Doctor Kate Heightmeyer." She didn't extend her hand to shake, instead, she tilted her head slightly to the side and down, then straightened, as she knew she was supposed to.

His face was rugged and lined, and she wondered if it were just her imagination, or that they'd been etched by every hard decision the man had ever made, as if their weight had created the creases to reflect the living proof of the cost. Joros had sad but strong eyes. He returned the gesture but turned his attention quickly back to John.

"Sire, the man in question, he is being held in the tent on the other side of camp – if you would follow me?"

As they followed Joros through the muddy paths, threading between tents and people, Kate watched as John was greeted with "King!" and "Majesty!" and a few "Sire"'s, and at the least, the heads and shoulders bowed low enough to be recognized for what they were. John grew remote and terse, but he gave up correcting anyone after the first few greetings.

Then Joros was pulling back the canvas door and holding it for them to enter. John went first and Kate followed. She was hit with smoky warmth and the stifling smell of unwashed bodies. Before her eyes had adjusted to the dim light, John was snarling, "Get that thing off him!" and lunging towards a man lying on the bare dirt floor.

She gasped when she realized it was some kind of torture device laced around the man's leg. It was made out of worn leather, and as John pulled it from the man's blood-crusted thigh, Kate knew she looked horrified. There were spikes – sharp metal spikes in neat rows all the way around the bracelet-like thing. Had John endured it? Judging from his reaction, she was certain he had. _Oh, John_…_Distance yourself, Kate_. But seeing it up close --

John was shaking. He held it by the buckle and when he focused on the men grouped in the tent behind her, Kate finally realized there were others nearby. Three other men standing uneasily behind the man on the ground.

"Sire, you do not know what crime this man has committed!"

"Tretaem --" John addressed the man that had protested, and when the man acknowledged him with a nod, he tossed the bracelet at the man's chest. "I don't care what he's done, I told you everything stayed on Arstaem! I said if you accepted my offer of asylum, you'd follow the rules we set. What didn't you understand about No. More. _Torture_?"

John's words ground into the bodies and they visibly stiffened.

Tretaem was a short, lithe man, with a head full of gray hair in need of brushing. His eyebrows were just as bushy as his head. Kate wasn't sure she got the measure of the man in a look, but she didn't feel he was cruel. It surprised her. "Sire, he must be punished – it is why we asked you to come. We are trying --"

"Not hard enough," bit John.

"What would you have us do? Set him free? He took a woman without permission from her family! Took her, and hurt her." Tretaem clutched the bracelet to his chest, his own tunic a clean red. He wasn't toiling in the fields with the others, but Kate imagined as an adjudicate of their people, he wouldn't be.

"Took?" Kate asked.

"Physically," clarified Tretaem.

"Do you mean rape?" Mostly, there weren't language barriers but every now and then words were missing from other world's vocabulary, or meant something else entirely. Kate disliked the thought of what 'physically' implied. It might also refer to murder, but either way, it was clearly something bad.

"Rape?" Joros shook his head, puzzled. "What is the meaning of rape?"

John's anger seemed to diminish, and his eyes slid over the cowering man, disgusted. "Rape is when a person has sex with another without their permission. Is that what you did?"

The man swallowed nervously. "What's sex?"

"Sex – making babies." John looked at Kate, perplexed. It only lasted for a second before it shifted, hardness stealing over him again. He focused on the ragged figure wearing a green tunic that was torn and stained with blood and urine, if Kate's nose was any good at identifying smells. "Did you do that?"

"N...n…No." The man stuttered a weak denial, looking away from John.

Joros' face flushed scarlet and he practically leaped across the room, lifting the man up by a fisted hand wrapped in the man's tunic. "Liar," he snarled. "Kel saw you dragging her into the woods!"

"I'm…I'm sorry." The man cringed and tried to pull free of Joros' hold.

"Did. You. Do. It?" John looked like the dead calm before the raging storm, and Kate felt a spike of fear. She'd been right – this was a bad idea, but they'd come alone. There wasn't anyone for her to turn to and say, "Get him out of here."

The other two adjudicates had been quiet but now they stepped near Joros and Tretaem, joining them and encircling the man. They began to chant in low, practiced voices, "Truth follows to the grave; truth takes the soul; die and live with the Ancestors, or die and live with the underworld."

After five or six times, the chanting grew louder and faster. Kate could swear electricity filled the air. She felt the hairs on her arms raise and it was all she could do to stand still.

Apparently the man wasn't immune, either. "Yes!" he sobbed, after a chorus of denials. "Yes…yes, I did. I'm sorry – I just…she wouldn't accept my marriage offer and --"

"Shut up," John ordered the chanting men. They quieted and drew away, leaving Joros holding onto the man. "What's your name?" The man looked nervously at everyone in the room, including Kate. He sensed something lethal in the air – something Kate felt as well. She felt a shiver run down her spine.

"Wilran, Sire. Wilran Balfor."

"Balfor? Related to Tretaem?" John jerked his head towards the adjudicate.

"Distant relation, as most of us are," Tretaem answered abruptly.

John nodded, satisfied with the explanation. "Good. I wouldn't want to worry about upsetting any family. Why'd you do it, Wilran?"

Wilran was a man crushed by his life. Maybe he'd been tall and proud once, but now all that was before them was a pathetic shell, crumbled in upon himself. "She…she was mine."

"No, she wasn't," corrected Tretaem, without rancor.

"No, not…not Syn…my Lorannan." Wilran's tortured face didn't seem to look at anyone. "I lost everything," he said, spittle dribbling down the corner of his mouth. "The wraith took Lorannan – my baby. Our first baby would have been born soon, and now I have nothing. No home, no hope, no wife and baby and no world." Tear-stained cheeks trembled. "Syn could have given it back…if she'd just said yes! I thought I could convince her that I could be a good husband."

"By hurting her?" demanded John roughly.

"It wasn't…" Wilran shook his head helplessly before repeating, "I lost everything. Lorannan…my baby…"

John wasn't a pillar of ice. Kate could see Wilran's devastation leeching into John's bones, the teeth of the man's despair taking a healthy bite. Still – he'd committed a crime, and Kate's clinical opinion leaned towards Wilran being mentally unstable. He'd admitted to the crime, but he was too lost in the past to grasp the ramifications of his actions. Wilran was like a crushed child, and any punishment given would have little impact.

Kate met John's look and shook her head. She knew what he wanted – was there anything she could do. It wasn't that she _couldn't_ treat Wilran, it was that Elizabeth wouldn't approve of the venture. The expedition's time and resources on Atlantis weren't limitless. It was the reason why Elizabeth had created a refugee policy. They would not take on other worlds' lost and damaged souls. They had enough on their plate just to survive and hold off the wraith.

John tried to stand taller; he pushed his shoulders back and rolled his head just a little – getting ready. "Wilran Balfor, I sentence you to banishment. Joros, make sure he's bound well. We'll fly him to the 'gate and send him back through to Arstaem." The man started weeping. John's jaw muscles twitched. "Be thankful I'm sending you back where at least there is shelter and food. You can survive, but you won't be staying here. The mainland doesn't have a jail; we don't have a place to incarcerate criminals. You should've thought about that before you raped the girl." He turned his back on the man and addressed Tretaem. "I want it known that serious crime will be met with a similar punishment. Rape, murder – I told you when you left Arstaem that the old ways are dead and gone. Learn to stand on your own two feet--"

Wilran screamed and pulled free of Joros, running at John. Kate shouted a warning. John turned, but Joros was faster – he pulled a sword from the scabbard tied to his waist, and thrust forward, piercing the man's back with enough blade to make Wilran stagger in his steps, arching away from the pain; his angered cry twisted into hurt, and he crumpled to the floor in front of John.

"What the hell did you do that for? I could've handled him." John was angry all over again. He stared at the man as Tretaem checked how badly the wounds were.

"He attacked you; it is an offense punishable by death." Joros wiped the soiled tip against his leather pants.

Through clenched teeth, John said, "He's not dead."

Joros shook his head sadly. "No, he's not. But he will be."

Kate had been drawn into the drama just as much as John, and had failed to realize that while they had shifted their attention to Joros, one of the other adjudicates had brought a vial to Tretaem. When Joros' words got through to John, he turned in time to see the vial pulled back from Wilran's mouth. A few harsh, pained breaths, and then Wilran's body slackened and stilled. He was breathing, but just barely.

"King Jaem --" gasped Wilran. "P…ple…please."

John knelt near enough to hear the labored whispers. "Why? You knew it was a death sentence, why run at me?"

Wilran's eyelashes were damp, his eyes completely given over to a glossy state. "I'd r…rather die…die here…then al…alone. Forgi…give me?"

"I'm not the one that needs to."

"Pl…plea…please?"

"No. You make your peace with whatever you find on the other side." John's hands hadn't reached for the dying man, instead, they were clawed in the dirt by his legs, his knees flat against the ground; he looked shattered. "I'm done with giving absolution."

Wilran had no more breath left with which to beg. Kate had to turn away as the man's back arched high one last time.

"God damn it!" John staggered back to his feet and reached for the vial still in Tretaem's hand; his fingers closed over it and Tretaem let go quickly. John stared at the vial, loathing written plainly across his face. "It worked too fast to be Haveala, what is it?"

"A tincture of raw Lumival…it begins to shut a body down almost instantly. It is merciful." Joros slid his sword back into the scarred and worn leather sheath; it matched the man that wore it. "Rarely has it been called for in our history; the only crime that results in an immediate death sentence is that of attacking the royal family, and I did not think you would want us to hang him. Besides, you heard him – he would rather die with his people than alone, banished to our world that has been claimed by the dead."

Kate had been rendered speechless but now she found her voice. "Joros, this type of act is against our beliefs. Colonel Sheppard made it clear that if your people --"

"His people," Tretaem interrupted. "_We_ are _his_ people, now."

"No," John said flatly. "I'm not your king – if I was, this wouldn't have happened. I'm a symbol, a remnant that never was. But if you want a king so goddamn bad, fine, you'll get one. From here on out, anyone responsible for taking another's life will be sent through the 'gate. Anyone that uses the old punishments, poisons and devices, like that -- " his finger pointed at the bracelet that at some point had been discarded on the floor, "will be sent through the 'gate. You want to stay on the mainland, then you better hope this is the last thing you do wrong."

"Colonel, maybe we should arrange for some members of the diplomatic team to work with the adjudicates and advisors, to create a reasonable code of law for them to follow in situations such as these." Kate felt sick. She had known it would be hard for them to walk away from the previous ways of life, and she had been so caught up in dealing with helping John, his team, and Carson that she had neglected to submit suggestions on how to help the Arstaemians.

What they'd been told to do -- it would be like telling everyone living in Atlantis that tomorrow they'd begin living under the same laws and mores as the Arstaemians and expecting them to follow those beliefs. Could they ask Elizabeth to sentence any of her people to torture and drugs instead of censure and revoking their status on the expedition?

The answer to that question didn't bode well for what it would take to change the Arstaemian ways and beliefs.

"Yeah…that's probably a good idea." John tossed the vial to the ground and when it didn't shatter, he stepped on it forcefully, twisting and grinding. The sound of crunching glass escaped from under his boot. Kate could see visible tremors along his hands and arms, but John wasn't done yet. He stepped over to the leg bracelet and picked it up. He was working hard to hide his emotions, and mostly succeeding, but the sheer effort of doing so was, in itself, telling. "Where's a fire?" he demanded, turning back towards Joros and the adjudicates.

Joros said stiffly, "This way."

The old guard led everyone to a central fire where women were boiling water and washing clothes. John tossed the bracelet into the flames and there wasn't a protest to be heard – just face after face of uneasiness. When he turned back to them, he said calmly, "I'm sending a team of soldiers to search every tent. If they find anything like that, the people in possession will be sent back to Arstaem. I made it clear that if you moved here, you followed _my_ rules on this. You wanted a king, fine, you've got one!" Savagely, he kicked a stray buckle that trailed out of the pit, almost clawing at a last chance of life, until it disappeared with the rest of the bracelet, devoured by the flames. "Now you live with what it costs."


	2. Chapter 2

"It is our right!"

"Your _right_?" Rodney glared across the table. "Excuse me, did I miss when you became members of our expedition? Or Sheppard's next of kin?"

Elizabeth held her hand up. "Rodney," she warned, before turning a severe look on Joros. "I will consider your claim, but you have to understand --"

Ronon stood, anger radiating off him in waves. "You let him near Sheppard, and I'll kill him myself."

Before Elizabeth could respond, Ronon stormed from the briefing room. She looked at Kate, for once at a loss of where to go from here.

But Kate wasn't any more capable of steering these rough waters than Elizabeth. She had to fight against dropping her head to the table, or leaving, following Ronon and trying to talk him down from what she suspected he was going to do. Probably retrieving his weapon then heading for Sheppard's bed to take up his watch.

Problem was, Kate wasn't so sure that Ronon wouldn't turn that gun on her.

Word had been sent to the Arstaemians on John's condition, because according to their stubbornly held beliefs, John _was_ their king. And John had set the precedent in motion by agreeing to bring the people to the mainland, and by remaining involved, even sitting in and ruling on disputes.

He hadn't done it willingly.

Kate had recommended against it.

But Joros had spoken to John privately and when they emerged from the conference, he'd told Elizabeth he needed to see to issues on the mainland. It had been the rock loosed from the mountaintop, and it only gathered speed as it rolled downhill.

Elizabeth had asked Kate what her opinion was. It had been the wrong thing to do, because even if John had been on the fence, asking Kate for her opinion had only solidified John's intent to do it. A lose-lose situation. Tell him no and he'd resent them, and probably find a way to do it anyway, tell him yes, and it was exposing him to the culture that bore the blame for the situation John found himself in.

Try as she had, Kate couldn't find a single positive to John returning to the Arstaem camp. It had been too soon.

But they all had a weakness when it came to John.

Despite her misgivings, Kate had found herself letting John make the call, but with one caveat. "I'll go with him."

And just like John back then, Joros didn't like Elizabeth looking to Kate for a recommendation now. He stood and slammed a gloved fist against the table. "Do not look to _her_ for an answer! Jaem is our king, and it is our right to visit him on his deathbed." The old guard had started out angry, and strong, but by the time he got to deathbed, his voice had cracked and stumbled, and the toll of his life seemed to catch up in one vicious moment.

He fell back, slumping in his chair; his rheumy eyes giving the only color to his face. When he looked up again, his eyes and shaking fist took second stage to the barely whispered, "Please…he is all we have _left_. Can you not understand that?"

Rodney shook his head, bitter. "He was _never_ yours."

"Rodney, weren't you helping Radek search the database for any information that might save John?" Elizabeth stared solidly at him, ignoring the outbursts with a poker face that Kate envied.

He didn't quite glare. To Kate, the reminder made Rodney look more lost than angry. Teyla touched his arm softly and smiled reassuringly. He swallowed, nodded, and left. When Teyla looked back to the table after watching Rodney leave, she found Kate first. She seemed to be saying _fix this_…but maybe that was Kate's guilt speaking for her.

Fix this – wasn't it already too late?

Still, Kate had a job, and Elizabeth had hers, and Teyla, as the prior leader of the Athosians, knew all too well what John meant to the Arstaemian people, regardless of the hurt they had all been through.

Tightening her hands in her lap, Kate locked eyes with Elizabeth and steeled herself. "We need a distraction, something to keep Ronon and Rodney away from John's side." She glanced at Joros and tried to ignore his naked relief.

Elizabeth nodded. "One representative from your people, and only to say goodbyes. I will be there, as will Kate, Carson, and Major Lorne and Lieutenant Cadman. Is that clear?"

She could tell Elizabeth didn't want to go there. It wasn't her mess to fix. It was Kate's.

Joros' face crumpled. "Thank you."

"But Joros, understand this, many of our people blame the Arstaemians for John's condition. The guards are for _your_ protection. Make it quick, and then Major Lorne will return you to the mainland."

"I understand, Doctor Weir," Joros breathed. "Only three of us came to the city when we were told. I will represent our people."

Elizabeth shook her head, for the first time, showing her anger. "Don't thank me. I find myself agreeing with Ronon."

All those pieces Kate had worked so hard to glue back together – they lay everywhere; scattered.

_I'm sorry, _she thought, feeling part of her break and fall to the floor with them. _I'm so sorry I failed when it mattered most._

When Teyla touched her arm, Kate opened her eyes, surprised to find she'd closed them. The sad, haunted look was for _her_. For Kate. Elizabeth was gone, and Joros stood by the door where Major Lorne and Lieutenant Cadman waited.

Kate tried to think of something to say.

"I'm sorry." The apology came on the wings of her thoughts.

It was the _only_ thing to say.

OoO

Rodney never sat in their sessions. He'd done it only the one time, when he had been stuck sharing his body with Lieutenant Cadman. Mostly, he paced, back and forth, back and forth.

Kate wondered if he had any idea of how irritating it was.

Still, she loved Rodney McKay in her own way, because of who he was, and who he was growing to be. Kate had been granted a rare clinical experience – getting to watch as a man old enough to be set in his ways learned how to care, learned how to open himself up to those that cared for him.

Ironically, he and John had more in common than they realized. Or maybe they did know and that was why they had found each other so soon after walking through that 'gate.

She knew the arrogant physicist had few friends before coming to Atlantis. She had sat in on the selection process from the beginning; looked through file after file, and it was she who set the final stamp of "mentally fit for expedition." With Rodney McKay, she had seen a man who was very closed, his inner being more protected than Fort Knox. Outwardly, he exuded irritability and a superiority complex that was only minimally for show.

Then John came into the picture. And the wraith. And death…a lot of death.

Rodney changed. He risked his life. He fought against impossible odds, and in the prior timeline, he gave his life for John, Elizabeth and Radek's escape. It hadn't been a fruitless sacrifice. His actions had set this current timeline in place.

He cared. And more and more, he showed that caring.

He went to movie night with his team.

He sought them out in the mess hall.

He kept bedside vigils.

And he hurt when he screwed up. He was hurting a lot.

"Rodney, is there a place you would like to start?" Kate considered standing herself, if only because she disliked sitting when others stood. She was just short enough that the height difference irritated her on a sub-level that only her training allowed her to recognize.

He paused in his pacing. "Remind me again, isn't that your job?"

"Fair enough." Kate realized Rodney was more shaken than she had bargained for. He knew her well enough to know that inviting her to go first was an often uncomfortable experience. Kate didn't hold her punches. "Why don't you tell me what Naem did to isolate Colonel Sheppard –why did you believe that he was safe when evidence to the contrary would have logically led to another conclusion?"

Because that was the heart of the matter.

She had gleaned that much from Rodney's stilted, abrupt mission reports. Rodney prided himself on his scientific acumen; his genius. And yet, he'd failed to apply logic and science to the situation. Logic would dictate that a man capable of orchestrating their capture, leading to the death of one of Naem's own people, and ordering Teyla whipped – it dictated that Naem had been dangerous, perhaps unstable, and one of the key factors in abusive relationships was isolating the victim from his support network. His friends and _family_.

Rodney had enough intelligence to go over all of the above in the aftermath.

He stared at her, his face paling. Then, without saying a word, he abruptly turned and left.

_So _– _maybe dial it back a little there, Kate_, she chided herself.

OoO

_**Interlude: Teyla**_

Could thoughts in your mind truly make you ill?

Teyla would not have thought so, but as she bent over the bathroom fixture, and tried to recover, she was beginning to feel certain that it could. She felt nauseous, sick. Tired and worn to the bone.

When enough time passed and she didn't feel any worse, Teyla risked pushing away and grabbing for the soft pink towel resting on the sink above her head. She pulled herself up and flipped the water on, leaning and shaking, while she dampened one end. She bent and ducked her head, getting her mouth close enough to let water run over her lips, drinking in enough to get rid of the acidic aftertaste.

She rinsed, spat, and then straightened, wiping the cold sweat off her face, before tossing the dirty towel into the hamper. She needed to get dressed.

Group therapy was in twenty minutes and Teyla knew if she went now, Carson would not let up on his questions. She did not need to be one of their doctors to know she looked terrible.

Her bed was unmade, and Teyla flopped down, staring at her skirt hanging over a chair. It was a mess. Like her. And right now, she just did not care.

John was making progress. Carson…Ronon, even, though he would not admit to having needed anything at all to begin with. At least it seemed that way to her. But she…she was falling more apart every day.

Across the room on her desk, a statue of a woman sat. It was a gift from Charin many years ago, before her father had been culled. It was meant to signify the strength of the leader that Teyla would some day be.

The woman stood straight, and tall, fighting sticks in one hand with a ruling torch in the other. The clothes were carved so expertly in the wood that Teyla almost felt she could feel them flowing in the wind the day the statue was made.

"You are lifeless," Teyla said to it. "Hard wood and dead – yet, you are more than I will ever be."

For a moment, she was overcome with an urge to take it and throw it in the water.

How could she have ever kept that promise? Known what she had and not spoken about the abuse John was enduring -- if Rodney ever found out -- he'd never forgive her. One word from her and she could've changed everything. But she had been blinded by honor to a culture that didn't exist anymore, at least not in the way it used to. The old ways, where a promise once given was as sacred as any vow her people could give, and you did not break it…not even if it meant death.

She had given Leal the promise foolishly. Not because she was afraid, but because she lacked imagination. She had not foreseen what Leal could possibly tell her to make her regret her heritage. To make her break a promise.

Words – that's all a promise was. She'd left behind so much of her people and her world, why had she not left that behind as well?

Ancestors….how could she have been so wrong?

The soft call from the door jolted her.

"Who is it?" Teyla called, swiping hurriedly at her eyes.

"It's me, John." There was a pause. "Hey – you alright? You didn't show up…"

She stared at the statue again, inhaled deeply and steadied her voice. "I'm fine…I merely lost touch with time."

"Track…" John said through the door. "It's 'lost track of the time'…look, Teyla, this is a little embarrassing, talking to a door."

"I'm sorry." She stood and opened the door. He was leaning on the wall, one arm raised over his head. His hair was even scruffier than usual, and he looked so tired it made her body ache. She shifted uncomfortably under his assessing look. "Come in."

He pushed off the wall and followed her. "I'm not a doctor, but you look like hell."

"And you should speak." She was not the only one looking rough. Still, this was the last thing Teyla wanted. If John knew…she glared at the accusing look from the statue and pulled her skirt off the chair, throwing it self-consciously on her bed. "Please, sit."

"I'm not trying to be rude or anything, but --" John raked his eyes over the bed, the clothes, and the dust. "It's a little…" He shook his head and changed tactics. "Is something bothering you? Because, being late…being, okay, a little slobby…it's not really like you."

John sat in the chair and Teyla tried to think of something to say that would not let him in.

"I'm fine." It was not near as reassuring as she had hoped for, but it was the best she could manage without breaking down in front of him. "Is Kate waiting for me to join everyone?"

He was weighing her, Teyla could tell. Even hurting like he was, John was shrewd, and saw many things. She had known it from the moment he had ducked into her tent that morning so long ago on Athos, and quickly inserted himself into her life by saying, "_Now there's three things you know about me_."

"You're not fine."

She closed her eyes and fought to stay grounded. She could not do this…not here, not yet – not so soon after getting him back; Teyla could not bear to see the anger in his eyes when he learned what she had done. _Steady_, she told herself, then opened her eyes again and stood. "I do not wish to talk about it," she said, purposefully gathering her skirt and heading for the bathroom.

_Don't say anything, just let me go,_ she pleaded

Then she was in the small room, safe, and the door shut behind her.

She showered, dressed and when she left the bathroom, he was gone. Was it wrong to admit she felt more sadness from that, than anything lately?

OoO

Elizabeth's office was quiet, even though it was full. Kate was the last to enter, and she felt their scrutiny deeply. She moved to the far wall and found a spot to lean, away from the others similarly reduced to standing room.

Once she was settled, Elizabeth nodded at her, then swept the room with a preparatory glance.

Rodney and Carson had the seats in front of Elizabeth's desk, Ronon and Teyla leaned on the wall opposite from Kate.

"Now that we're all here, I suppose we should get to the business at hand."

"Can we make this quick?" Rodney's eyes shifted to Kate, the unspoken accusation nailing her against the wall. Nothing had changed there, then. "Seeing how we haven't found anything so far that might help Sheppard, I'd prefer to keep actively looking rather than sitting around doing nothing."

"It won't take long." Elizabeth glanced at the tablet in front of her. "I wanted to clarify a few things in the mission reports. Teyla, you claimed that John had no prior warning before the Chief initiated the ritual?"

She nodded. "One moment, they bowed – it was not expected, but John was able to quickly follow along. Then, a woman handed their Chief a bowl with a spoon, and he turned to the colonel and said, "Open, eat from my hand…" Teyla stiffened, and Kate noticed Rodney and Ronon had as well. "Before he could finish, John had…he…it was almost like the panic attacks he suffered afterwards, and he --"

"For God's sake, Teyla, I already said I don't have all day. One minute Colonel Sheppard was following along with their little ritual, then the next, he freaked out, slapping the food away, and then there was a bang and Sheppard was falling …"

Rodney drifted away, his irritation dying -- most likely overwhelmed by the memory.

"I see." Elizabeth made notes then caught Kate's eye. "Kate, were you aware that this reaction was a possibility?"

"How could she have guessed --" Carson started.

Ronon growled, "He shouldn't have been sent through that 'gate. This never should've happened."

"Oh, and _what_, he should've been sentenced to flying a desk?" demanded Rodney. "You know that wasn't an option. If she'd done her job right the first time, we wouldn't be here."

"On Sateda, when a soldier endures combat trauma they're automatically put through a reconditioning program that lasts months."

"Well I don't know if you've noticed, but this isn't Sateda, is it?"

"Boys! This isn't helping Colonel Sheppard." Elizabeth waited to see if they had anything further to add, but when both slumped lower in their places and remained quiet, she nodded, and used the stylus to bring up more data on her pad. "Kate?"

She had never answered – Rodney's intervention, Kate supposed, had at least given her time to think. Not that it was enough time. She wrapped her arms around her chest and tried to steer through these waters with honesty and frankness, because anything less would be doing a disservice to John.

"I was aware that a possible trigger could elicit a flashback…but I had talked at length with John, and was confident that any such triggers had been discussed with him, and I had at times, exposed him while he was unaware, to items I thought presented a risk. By the time I cleared him, he was having no discernible reactions."

The curtains, chains, bracelets of different types and sizes…but food? Why had that not come up – none of them had discussed at length the ritualized feeding implications, and she had been drowning too deep in all their needs to have realized there was even more hiding below the surface.

Elizabeth nodded, accepting her explanation. "I see. Then, are there any more possible triggers that might cause further trouble?" She glanced at Rodney, Ronon and Teyla. "For any of them?"

Kate shook her head. "No." She had cornered Teyla and Rodney, expecting them to give her the best information, though she'd waited until she was certain Rodney wouldn't hit her. "I think if John manages to recover from this, that mentally he will be no worse off than he was before and with the benefit of hindsight, I don't foresee this happening again, so long as we begin on further conditioning to reduce the response to the triggers. For the others," she nodded at them, "the same applies."

"Carson – what about you? Is there any chance that John will recover?"

When Carson refused to look at anyone, Kate felt something inside shrivel up…she curled her feelings in close because this was going to hurt.

"I'm afraid not."

His voice was soft and thick and final.

Rodney rushed in, as she'd have guessed he'd do. "Radek and I haven't finished searching the database – don't pull your white sheet over him until I say so." He glared at Carson and radiated energy and determination through his outer layer of "leave John the fuck alone."

"What are you saying, Carson – that he has no hope for recovery, or that there's nothing more you can do?" Elizabeth was trying to understand but Kate knew it for what it was… Elizabeth had to hear it again, to believe it. She'd understood well enough the first time.

"Both." He stood, the last one Kate would've expected to storm out. "There's not a bloody thing I can do, and it's about to cross the spinal-brain barrier." Carson thrust his hands into his pockets and looked angry. "All the blame, and arguing, and discussion about what could've been done or what should be done – it doesn't matter anymore. There's no treatment, no cure, so if you don't mind," he shrugged angrily, "I've got a patient to watch die."

"Carson --" Elizabeth stood, but he was already gone. Her eyes locked with Kate, and all Kate could do was shake her head. She sat back down with a heavy, muted sigh.

Rodney was next, mumbling something about how everyone was going nuts except _his_ people.

Ronon and Teyla followed, sliding past Kate with a brush of air and nothing else.

That left Elizabeth, her desk, two empty chairs, Kate, and a whole lot of emotion still hanging tangibly between them. Kate grimaced, and took a seat before Elizabeth offered, because even though she might have burned bridges for some, that didn't mean she wasn't needed.

"I'm sorry," she began, feeling the warmth from the previous occupant. "I didn't…I've been over it at least a dozen times, and I keep coming to the same conclusion…"

"What conclusion is that?"

"That given the same information, I wouldn't have done anything differently, and in the same set of circumstances, the events would have unfolded just as they did." Kate didn't discuss her thoughts about friendship and her failure to look at John's case with proper detachment, because using the above rationale, her answer still stood.

Elizabeth's office had slowly taken form over the last two years. Pictures that had meaning only in this galaxy, and artifacts gained through trade on other worlds. Ultimately, they were an excuse, a distraction, and Kate always knew when Elizabeth was using them for just that purpose.

But when she lifted one item in particular, Kate knew it had nothing to do with excuses or distractions, and everything to do with something heavier and more meaningful. "Where did you get it?" she prompted. It was her job to notice these things, to dig. Elizabeth was an ongoing patient, her trouble with insomnia worsening with every crisis.

She stared at the plain earthen pot, beige and unmemorable. "Colonel Sheppard gave it to me on my birthday, the first year we were here." She smiled at it before setting it back down. "It was when my alternate self was found."

"And died," Kate added astutely, crossing her legs and watching Elizabeth carefully.

"And died." She turned it a little, seemed satisfied, and lifted her stylus, pulling her tablet back to the center of her attention. "I'm not giving up on him."

"You think he's incapable of dying?"

"I think we need him too much."

Kate wished it were that simple. "Elizabeth, he can't get lucky every time." As much as Kate herself prayed he could, she knew from the battered shells that wound their way to her office that people lost. If John was anyone else other than who he was, he would've died long before now, but eventually even Superman had his kryptonite. Delaying the inevitable was only just that – delaying.

Should she have sent him home, to Earth?

It would've saved his life.

Or maybe, it just would've delayed the inevitable.

OoO

Teyla had asked to meet in the pillow therapy room for her private session. Kate had been only too happy to agree. She preferred the softness, the colors, the serenity that even she found there.

Treating five very damaged individuals was beginning to take a toll on her. When Kate had prepared treatments, listed concerns, set about making a schedule, she had failed to remember she was only one person. One therapist with five patients, all of them in their own way needing a great deal of _patience_, effort, and time.

None of them were proving easier than she had believed. In fact, it was the opposite. Even Carson was harder to help than she'd anticipated. Over three weeks in, and Kate found herself plagued by nightmares, insomnia and loss of appetite. The very symptoms she had noted to be on the lookout for in her patients.

Her mouth curled wryly as she entered the room, her files in hand. _Physician, heal thyself._

"Kate," Teyla greeted, her face calm and pensive.

She'd been here for some time, Kate realized. Cross-legged on the mat, pillows arranged around her, candles on a waxy paper to keep from damaging the floor. "Teyla. I see you've been meditating."

"I find it settles my mind in a way that nothing else can," she admitted.

"I'm glad you have a method to help you." Kate found a red pillow to lean on, and settled across from Teyla, dropping her files by her side. She wouldn't take notes until after. It made people uneasy, writing while they spoke, and it inhibited their willingness to talk. But she kept the files with her, so that when the patient left, she could hastily scribble down what she needed to. "If only the others would be willing to try."

"I could try and teach them."

It might help. Of course, it might irritate Colonel Sheppard and Rodney, but if they did it together? If she staged it as a mandatory class for all expedition members – "Teyla, would you mind offering it as a class to more than a few?"

A small wave of reservation passed through Teyla's expression. "I am not --"

"No more than ten per class? I can make attendance mandatory for department heads." Kate pressed against the doubts she knew were there.

"Then Ronon will not attend."

A candle's flame guttered in a breeze as the air refreshers kicked on. Kate shivered and wished she'd worn her jacket over her t-shirt. Teyla might be right, but she could drop a bug in Ronon's ear – something to encourage him to be there: to support John. She smiled reassuringly at Teyla. "Let me worry about that. Now, seeing how I'm here for you, is there anything in particular you wish to talk about?"

One thing Kate had always admired about Teyla was her composure. Her subtle grace, and the underlying peace that rarely seemed shaken by events around her. Kate often thought it was a trait found in the Athosians she had met, but Teyla seemed to wear her confidence in a _Que sera, sera_ manner unlike any other Kate knew.

But it was clear that Teyla's confidence had been dealt a blow on Arstaem.

A soft sheen of perspiration glistened on Teyla's forehead and she looked uncomfortable, and hesitant. Her legs hadn't moved while they'd talked.

"Teyla…" Kate had only bits and pieces from reports. Was this from the beating Teyla had endured, possibly nightmares? Or was it something more – there'd been mention in Teyla's reports of the ostracization they'd coped with initially. "Talk to me. If you won't tell me what's bothering you, I can't help."

She unfolded gracefully, legs and arms, until she was standing. Then she started to walk, first to the window in the back of the room, and Kate had to twist at her waist to keep an eye on her. When she turned back, her face was troubled, and Kate could feel the revelation coming – the source of her discomfort.

"What would you say about someone…" Teyla breathed in, as if seeking strength from the air. "What would you think, about someone that knew about an intolerable situation, and yet, kept a promise to stay quiet…kept the promise initially because there was nothing to be done and a promise is sacred, then later wanted to speak up, but…"

Kate frowned, searching through the words to find their meaning. "Is this hypothetical?" She highly suspected it wasn't.

Teyla bit her lip and shook her head, her hands finding each other, and Kate got the impression it was only their grip keeping Teyla together.

She got to her feet and was by Teyla's side as fast as she could manage. The floor sunk and dented under her feet. Kate felt another rush of alarm as she realized she'd misjudged again. Teyla was falling apart, silently, right in front of her, and Kate hadn't seen it coming.

OoO

_**I see things now in a new light. I see the mistakes I made as clearly as if someone had painted them on my nose. But at the time, from a clinical perspective, it didn't feel like I was in over my head.**_

_**I had misjudged the depth of trauma, to them all, definitely. But over my head? **_

_**I am a trained psychologist. I'm supposed to be able to help patients like Teyla, Rodney…John. Instead, I found that the ones I least expected to fall apart did, and the one I thought was doing well, was only waiting for the right stimulus to lose it when it mattered most.**_

The monitor beeped softly, the rhythm only broken by the scritch-scratching of Kate's pen. Eventually, she always transferred her notes to her computer, but this wasn't her official file. This was her journal, and resting it on her knee, she paused to look at John's slack face. The ventilator hose stared back at her, ugly and accusing. The sheet was tucked around the wires and machines, but she could see skin, and Kate wondered if he was cold. How much was John aware of, if anything? If she was to reach out and grab his hand, would he know she was there? Would he curse her for putting him in that bed?

Sighing, she leaned away, feeling the solidity of the chair pressing against her spine.

Why was she even here?

Of late, Kate certainly had moments where she felt she had no right.

She'd stayed after Joros left, then gone and eaten a hurried lunch, before coming back. Carson had taken care of John's team by telling them if they stepped foot in the infirmary without a nap and a meal, they'd get the bed and needle treatment from him. They were exhausted and hurting.

John Sheppard's team of hollow men, and God forbid if the worst did happen. How could she help them if he didn't make it? They wouldn't trust her. They wouldn't listen to her. And frankly, Kate didn't blame them. She didn't even fancy listening to herself right now. She'd cancelled her afternoon session with a patient from another team. The man was a young marine, and he'd watched as his buddy was killed during an escape attempt from another bad situation. She'd make it up to him, pull herself together, reschedule…it was just…right now, her confidence was shaken. She felt if she met with him this afternoon, she'd do more harm than good.

There were so many of them…needing her, depending on her. What if she screwed up again? Missed something crucial and cost another patient their life?

Looking at John, Kate felt like a child sneaking to the living room to watch late night TV while her parents were sleeping. She wasn't supposed to be here. She didn't belong.

"_If Jaem dies, he must be buried according to our burial rites. He must be laid on a pyre, his body burned at sunset."_

Kate shook away Joros' words. The conflict just to let him visit John was enough – burial rites?

_Please, don't let it come to that. _

_**It's been almost a week since they carried John back, and I see in myself signs of depression. I feel inadequate, afraid. I thought I had done my job. That I'd been capable and caring. I had held them when they needed it, pushed when I felt they needed that – and yet, the worst outcome is lying in a bed in front of me.**_

_**I know doctors lose patients. They tell medical students that you will screw up. That you are going to do something, make a decision that ultimately proves fatal for the patient. That it's the nature of being a doctor. You can't win them all. You can't save everyone. You can't see the future and know every decision that leads to the best possible outcome.**_

_**It was a sobering lecture to hear, but it's heartbreaking to actually live it.**_

_**My faith in my abilities is shaken. I want to help John's team right now, but I can't even help myself, even if they would accept my help. **_

_**They also tell you that it's purely ideological to think you'll like every patient the same. They tell you to try and treat them identically – but that you'll find yourself caring for some more than others. It's human nature.**_

_**It's human weakness.**_

_**I cared, and now John's dying. Maybe if I'd cared less, I would've seen more.**_

"What are you doing here?"

The accusation stilled Kate's hand. She lifted the pen, steeled herself, then looked over her shoulder to see Rodney standing behind her, hovering at the door; a hard, unforgiving glare ran rampant towards her.

This wasn't the place for a confrontation, even if Kate knew how to defend herself. Right now, frankly, she didn't. She stood, tucking the notebook against her chest. "I was keeping him company. Now that you're here, I'll go."

Rodney could be arrogant, condescending and hurtful. But he could also be loyal, and fight to the end for those he deemed important. He looked like he hadn't slept since it all started, haggard and empty, but just when Kate went to step around him, he reached for her, swallowed and wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Wait…just…_damn it_." He let go of Kate and walked to John's side. He hesitated, before wrapping his long fingers around John's arm, holding on like it was his lifeline.

Kate waited, feeling something stir inside.

"He'd be pissed at me for acting like this." A bitter laugh snaked into the air. "I'm surprised you haven't figured out who I'm really angry at."

She stepped towards him and felt another uncomfortable lurch. "You don't… this isn't your fault, Rodney."

He snorted and shifted his head to glare at her. "Of course it isn't. Why would you think I'm blaming myself? Never mind – I said angry, not blame."

Right. Kate sighed and clutched the notebook closer. "Me?" Even as she said it, she dismissed it; too obvious. "You?"

He bobbed his head irritably, released John's arm, and slung himself wearily into the chair Kate had vacated. "Yes, me – I did the prep for the mission. I pulled the information from the database about their culture and technology. Going back, what reference do you think I happened to find that I missed the first time around?"

"You couldn't have known --"

Rodney had taken up his vigil, one hand threaded through the bar of the metal railing, holding John's carefully in his own. "Of course I could have known. That's the point." He scrubbed his face with his other hand and stared at her for a minute, then made a resigned face. "Whatever. For what it's worth, Radek and I are finishing a translation on where to find a device that might reverse this – from what we can tell, it's in a lab somewhere on Atlantis. There's a chance that we might be able to save him."

Kate felt a surge of hope. "When did you find --"

"A couple hours ago. I'm going to lead the team to find it. Ronon and Teyla will probably go, too, so…he needs someone…"

"Of course…I'll stay with him." Ironic, she knew, that Rodney had flipped the tables on her--letting go of his anger and hurt, inviting her to stay, to do something for John in the wake of what had happened.

He nodded woodenly. It hurt a little, still, because Kate could see he hadn't totally forgiven her--and maybe it didn't matter, because if Kate couldn't even forgive herself; what did it matter if anyone else did?

"Just so you know…he likes to be read to. If you, well…"

Kate smiled tremulously. "What book?"


	3. Chapter 3

Kate held a hand up, trying to get the five to stop griping. "Okay, Carson – you've brought up a valid point."

"It's completely not valid," Rodney retorted. He wasn't leaning on his pillow, so much as attacking it. He had pulled it to the front of his body and shoved it against his stomach, where he alternated between pushing it in so far Kate was certain he touched his stomach through the padding, or, letting it fall loose on his lap. "The idea that the events were anything less than abusive and wrong…" He shifted angry, belittling eyes at Carson. "It's ludicrous."

Group therapy had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now Kate wondered if she'd been wrong.

Rodney's defensiveness combined with his insistence that he was always right, that his opinions were the most valid ones – it was causing a lot of anger between Rodney and Carson.

As for Carson, his mixed emotions over coming to care for the Arstaemians, even while feeling the anger over John's abuse, were creating conflict that kept the doctor from sleeping well, and eating – he was pale, his eyes shadowed and worn. He'd confessed that he'd begun to care for Leal. To see her as more than just one of the people they'd been enslaved to. It'd been easy enough for him to accept her. Kate had told him it was natural. They had shared a passion for helping people.

After she had said that, he'd almost bitten her head off, snapping, "Aye, except the entire time she knew the horrors John was suffering, and played party to it."

Kate had nodded sagely and asked, "Does that change how you felt about her?"

He'd shaken his head, dropped further into the chair, defeated and tired. He'd met her eyes, and she'd seen the turmoil raging there. Carson had pursed his lips and looked away. "It changes everything," he had finally said.

Before he'd left their solo session, Kate had given Carson an assignment. To think about what made it different. To consider that maybe an individual doing the only thing they knew _wasn't_ wrong – that Leal was no more at fault for her actions than anyone else.

Cultural anthropology taught that in every society, children are raised with social mores. What's acceptable, and what's not. In some third-world countries, it's acceptable for the very young to have sexual relations. It's acceptable to have multiple wives, and to practice self-mutilation.

Was Arstaem so different? They weren't just another country on Earth, but another world, in another galaxy, and while what happened to John was abuse for all the members of the expedition – it was an accepted and valid practice for the Arstaemians.

She had told him to think about it -- to help him come to terms with the natural conflict. Apparently, he had done just that. And he had voiced his thoughts moments ago, while John sat stone still, Teyla listened with interest and Ronon continued to remain detached, bored and only speaking when he felt the need to defend someone.

"And is it bloody wrong to slaughter a cow, Rodney?" demanded Carson.

"Of course it isn't!" Rodney's eyes narrowed.

"It is if you live in India."

"We don't live in India!" Rodney tossed the pillow to his side. "And we aren't Arstaemian citizens, either. What happened to Sheppard was wrong. It…it's just…" Rodney shifted a suddenly self-conscious look at John. "It's just wrong." He fished the discarded pillow back into his lap, and held it in a death grip.

Teyla added, "And believing that John was being selfish and forgetting his friends was not?"

"McKay didn't say it wasn't," Ronon interjected.

John's composure was strained. "Why are we here?" he asked Kate.

A valid question. Kate considered the best response. "You mean group therapy?"

In the momentary lull, the air refreshers kicked on, sending a soft hum around them. Kate's hair was blown away from the edges of her face, like someone had leaned in and puffed just a little.

John looked around the room – at his team, his doctor, his friends. "Yeah. What are you hoping to get out of this?"

He wasn't leaning against a pillow today. He didn't sit in the middle, or near Kate. He sat on the outside, and towards the back. He'd been last in, following Rodney. As far as Kate knew, John was holding up his end of the deal. Taking the antidepressants, but he still looked flat. Like he'd sucked every doubt and conflict deep inside where no one could get to it. Where no one could help him.

"The goal is to keep the issues out in the open. To give everyone a chance to keep the lines of communication flowing." Kate supposed that even a negative line was better than no line at all. "Colonel – keeping conflict bottled up often results in stress-related disorders. There are issues related from the experiences you five had on Arstaem. Issues your team need to work through, and issues you need to, as well. The reason we are here, the reason why all of you are required to go through this therapy, together and individually, is because past studies indicate that a failure to get these thoughts and worries out in the open, only increases the likelihood of a stress-related breakdown in the future."

"Doc, I've been through a lot worse, and I never had a breakdown." Ronon moved to stand.

"Ronon, please, stay." Kate had known he'd be the one most likely to leave. And she understood and appreciated where he was coming from. Ronon wasn't from Earth. He didn't share the same cultural views that everyone else other than Teyla did. The difference between Teyla and Ronon, though, was that Teyla didn't have the hardness that Ronon had. The complete loss of everyone he had ever known and loved, not just his world. The years of running and never getting to form relationships, because the wraith always showed up in his wake. "I realize that what each one of you is feeling is going to vary. But I'm asking you to stay and participate for the other members of your team." She kept her eyes away from John.

"Colonel Sheppard was subjected to physical and emotional abuse. Teyla, physical, certainly. The rest of you were drugged, coerced, and enslaved, and no matter how cushioned the prison cell might have been at times, you were still held against your will. You weren't free to leave and go as you wished. You were isolated from your people and your life – no matter how capable you feel of dealing with the aftermath, it _will_ affect you, and it might just happen at the worst possible moment. When you're on a mission, or your hands are deep inside another man's guts."

Kate had their attention. She nodded at them, knew they were listening and considering what she had said. "You don't have to like this therapy. You don't even have to like me, but my job is to get you through this, so that you can return to active duty, mentally and physically ready to take what you'll run into on the other side of that 'gate, or in the operating room. You can't have your mind living halfway in another place, or you'll wind up getting yourself, or someone else, killed."

OoO

_**Interlude: Elizabeth**_

She was supposed to be a rock. A leader for an entire city full of people that looked to her for guidance – and yet, all Elizabeth wanted to do was look to someone else for the same comfort. The same guidance, and have someone else give her the answers. Because lately, she just didn't know what to do anymore.

Every time she felt like she'd weathered the storm, and it couldn't get any worse, it did.

Carson had been by. Their conversation hadn't exactly been the highlight of her life.

"May I come in?"

"Carson, of course. Any news on John? Has Rodney made any progress searching the database?"

He'd grimaced and taken a seat.

"No." Carson had looked pained and washed out. His earlier anger was gone. "Elizabeth – I'm sorry."

"No --"

"I told you, there's nothing more I can do. I just came by to drop this off."

The paper he had given her stared up from her desk, weighing less than an ounce on any scale other than her heart.

**Medical Power of Attorney **

**Effective Upon Execution**

_I, john Sheppard, a resident of IOA Expedition, location classified; social security number 487-23-9857 designate Rodney, Mckay, presently residing at ioa expedition, location classified, telephone number unknown as my agent to make any and all health care decisions for me, except to the extent I state otherwise in this document. For the purposes of this document, "health care decision" means consent, refusal of consent, or withdrawal of consent to any care, treatment, service, or procedure to maintain, diagnose, or treat an individual's physical or mental condition. This medical power of attorney takes effect if I become unable to make my own health care decisions and this fact is certified in writing by my physician._

John had a medical power of attorney, like everyone else. There were too many near misses for them to not take seriously the idea of death. In the event of a permanent vegetative state unlikely to resolve, John had wanted to be let go. He didn't want to be kept alive on life support – a shell and nothing else.

He'd told her after filing it, "Lingering isn't living, Elizabeth."

Another day, Carson had said, until he could certify brain death, with the rate of progress the burrowing agent was making. Twenty-four more hours and she'd have to hand the paper to Rodney and ask him to sign off on pulling life support.

Twenty-four more hours where John Sheppard would still be alive in her world.

Was she weak for wanting to cry?

To get him back after those months of uncertainty and worry, only to lose him to something so completely stupid and unnecessary that it made her soul ache.

A knock on her door caused her to look away and wipe at her eyes as she struggled to come back from that place where she wasn't anybody's rock. It only took a second, but when she turned back, and saw Rodney standing awkwardly in the doorway, she knew he hadn't missed a thing.

"Rodney," she greeted. Maybe it was for the best that he was here now.

"I…uh, I can come back…"

"No, no," she flipped the paper over and gestured at the chair in front of her desk, "come in. I've got something to talk to you about, anyway."

He looked concerned, but then he pushed it away, and came in, passing on the offer of the chair. "This won't take long, actually – Radek and I found something, in the database."

"Something that can help John?" Elizabeth was almost afraid to ask.

"Yes, there's a device that the Ancients used to treat nerve damage – paralysis, spinal cord injuries, that sort of thing." He stared at her a little harder. "Did something happen? Not -- Sheppard didn't, I mean, I just left there and he was still --"

"No – John's hanging on."

Rodney pointed at his eye. "It's just…you've got something…"

Elizabeth frowned and rubbed her eye, her hand coming away wet. _Damn_. She'd tried to get it all, but she supposed it wasn't like she could do anything about the redness, so who was she fooling?

"Right," he said. "Anyway, if you can just okay a team to go searching for the lab --"

"What are you waiting for?" She smiled weakly. "Take Teyla and Ronon, would you? I think they could use something to do."

"I was going to." He nodded at her computer. "The translation still needs some work, though, if you could?"

"I'll get right on it."

Rodney hesitated, before prompting, "You needed to talk to me about something?"

The paper was under her hands, and she shook her head dismissively. "Nothing." Hopefully, they wouldn't need it…_ever_. "It was nothing at all."

OoO

Kate studied the file in front of her and tried to pull her mind off others long enough to deal with this one patient. Langston, Robert… he'd been captured with a member of his team, and by the time the rescue had gotten to them, the other member, Sergeant Sykes, was deceased. Multiple stab wounds. It had all happened in front of Langston; he'd been stunned and could only watch as they murdered his teammate.

Needless to say that now the man was suffering.

Nightmares, PTSD – _damn_. He'd had a flashback in the mess hall and almost strangled one of the cooks.

Right now, she'd had him admitted to the infirmary. Carson had discussed medications, but as a psychologist, all she could do was suggest treatment options. She wasn't certified to prescribe anything.

Elizabeth had met with her after and asked point blank, "Can you fix this?"

Wasn't that the million dollar question for them all?

Kate let the file drop onto the desk, and turned to stare out the window. The curtains fluttered in the breeze that always seemed to be blowing this time of year. She alternated shutting the window and leaving it open during John's sessions.

John!

Oh, damn it!

Kate jumped up from her desk, flipped her wrist and realized she was ten minutes late, even while she was already gathering up Langston's files, and a few of the others that she'd been in the process of updating.

Hurriedly tucking them into her bag, Kate reconsidered again the idea of going completely digital.

They were waiting for her, and Kate smiled apologetically at John's team. "I'm so sorry." She waved away Teyla's offer of a chair. "Just let me grab a coffee, okay? Until then, if you'd read this please." She pulled the hand-outs she'd prepared for them and gave each their own copy.

The coffee carafe looked greasy and old, and Kate figured it was just her luck to arrive after rush hour when all that remained was over-heated and burnt. She passed it up for tea, and decided a muffin would take the edge off her hunger.

By the time she threaded her way back, Rodney had the paper before him like it might bite, and Ronon was frowning at Kate. Teyla was still reading.

Kate slid into the chair Teyla had indicated earlier and steeled herself for the conversation. "So, Rodney…did you read it already?"

"Are you insane?" he demanded.

So…he'd read it. Kate poured a small amount of sugar into her tea and tried to act nonplussed. "Well, if I were, I'd like to think I'd be the first to know."

"Ha ha ha." Rodney didn't quite temper his disgust. "This is…this is quite possibly the most ridiculous proposal I've read since I was told about a circular 'gate that opens a wormhole to another world."

"Rodney," Teyla scolded.

"No, it's fine, let him speak his mind." Kate sipped her tea and winced. Maybe the coffee would've been better. She set the cup to the side and looked sideways at Ronon. "Ronon – what do you think?"

He shrugged and flicked a disinterested look at the paper. "Can't read your writing."

Before Kate could apologize for making an assumption, Rodney leaned forward across the table, pushing the papers back to Kate. "Trust me, you're not missing anything … for some crazy reason Kate wants us to start…to start…" Rodney suddenly looked embarrassed and flustered.

She had expected that. For Teyla, who was still reading but well aware of what was going on around her, Kate knew the suggestion would be accepted on the merits…but the content alone would create tension with Rodney, and most likely Ronon. They were men, and John was most decidedly a male. Asking men to openly demonstrate affection was almost tantamount to painting a rainbow on their forehead. They could be incredibly shortsighted because of the stigma attached to any type of…well… sentimentalist, mushy, feminine behavior, or so they saw it.

Yet, she had to try, and that's why she'd asked them to meet her.

Why the mess hall?

Kate liked to think of it as damage control. The public location would temper Rodney and Ronon's reactions. They wouldn't want the entire city knowing that they were being given a prescribed treatment method that's main ingredient was _touch_.

"Teyla – I take it you can read our words?"

She nodded. "Radek and Elizabeth have been helping me." Kate was a little surprised by how wary Teyla appeared. She set the paper down with the other three and seemed to consider her words carefully. "Is there a chance that this might…" Teyla focused on Rodney for a moment, searching delicately for the right words.

"That someone will think we're all sleeping together?" Rodney blurted. He looked around self-consciously, fearing he'd spoken too loudly. "I mean, it's not…we don't…"

"That is not what I meant, Rodney." Teyla sighed softly. "I am worried that doing this might cause John more discomfort." She lifted an eyebrow at Rodney. "_Not_ what other people might think."

"What, you _want_ us to have sex?" Ronon looked bewildered.

"You can at least look more _disturbed_."

"McKay, this _is_ disturbed."

Kate wondered if Carson had anything stronger for headaches than the blue packets? She took the papers and shoved them back in her bag, deciding maybe this hadn't been the best approach ever. "No sex," she said firmly. "Touch, Ronon. What I am asking is for you three, as members of John's team, to use that opportunity to…well, it's what we call conditioning --"

"Like getting used to running so far in a day."

"Yes, exactly." Kate was glad Ronon was following her. "But with John, what Naem did was to condition his body to feel pain with touch. He often shies from it now, will go out of his way to avoid personal contact. It's not healthy, and frankly, it has me concerned. What happens off-world if he is forced into unexpected contact?"

"I think if I try to touch him, he's gonna try to punch me." Ronon started to grab his tray and stand.

Kate touched his arm. "Wait, please…hear me out."

He looked at Rodney, as if asking, "We gonna do this?" and Kate held her breath when a short, imperceptible nod sent Ronon sliding back down in his chair.

"Thank you," she said, relieved. "This is what I had in mind …"

OoO

_**Interlude: John**_

Tangled sheets, and tortured dreams. John shoved both away, and rolled from his bed, tired and achy. Three and a half weeks into mandatory counseling and he felt like telling them all how far to shove their concern, their talking, their hovering…their _caring, _because when they did it right, it only served to highlight how screwed up the whole ordeal with Naem had been. Caring wasn't about hurting; the two were never meant to be connected, not like the yin and yang of love and hate – it wasn't the same thing.

Maybe the therapy had made a difference after all. Kate, McKay, Carson and almost everyone else that got near him, seemed to be drilling that point home. Teyla ran soft fingers through his hair whenever he fell asleep against her watching movies – and on this imposed downtime, they were watching _a lot_ of movies – Aliens, Nightmare on Elm Street, War of the Worlds – if it was creepy and scary, he was there.

He often found himself squashed between Teyla and McKay, who, contrary to his abrasive personality, would tuck a blanket around John and get all hennish, straightening John's legs and fussing.

Ronon actually let Sheppard eat his cake without acting like he'd stab John with a fork for trying.

There weren't any chains, or rituals. No hidden rules and humiliation.

Should there be? There never were before. Naem hadn't changed who he was; one man can't change a lifetime of experiences; and yet, wasn't that what Heightmeyer claimed was part of his problem – that his lifetime had taught him no one cares unconditionally. Love is offered with strings, and if you trip, the hands holding them will cut you free just as soon as pull you back up to your feet.

Everyone he'd ever loved had cut him free. His mom died when he needed her most; left him with a father incapable of accepting his son for who he was. To General Sheppard, retired, John would always be lacking: hardness, an edge – the ability to be callous and disconnected. The Air Force hadn't been any better…Sheppard had served with everything he had, fought for those around him, fought when and where the military said he had to, and when he tried to save lives, he got a secret court martial and sent off to serve in a frozen wasteland.

And General O'Neill had the balls to act like Sheppard owed anyone anything after that.

A flip of a coin; to go or stay.

Looking back he couldn't help but wonder if he should've stayed.

His dad would never know what he was doing, where he was. So none of this was going to impress anyone. Did it make John any better than Naem for wanting to hurt his dad even while he wanted to be accepted by him? All he'd ever wanted was a simple, "Good job." It made him feel a little sick that as much as he wanted praise and acceptance, he also wanted to tell his dad what he was doing, and seeing, and not for getting respect, but as a way of saying, "I'm doing something better than you could've ever done."

Which really meant that as much as he wanted his dad to accept him, John also wanted to bury the knife between them a little deeper and make it hurt a little more…on his dad's part.

The cup he'd picked up was cold in his hand, the ice mostly melted, condensation heavy on the bottom half of the plastic. Taking a drink, John set it down, and stood in the mostly dark room, padding over to where his shirt was draped on the chair, along with his pants.

He got dressed, and stole out the door, heading for the Jumper bay.

Restlessness haunted his body ever since they'd returned. Sleeping was a joke, and John knew Heightmeyer wasn't missing a thing. Then again, neither was McKay, hence the blanket tucking when the insomnia caught up to him and John dozed in front of people. It was embarrassing, making him feel like a little kid again, and that made him spin right back to his dad and Naem, and every conflicted emotion slammed him down, hard, heavy and unrelenting.

_It's winter, always bleak winter inside. There never was a spring or summer for me, and Naem never realized why I couldn't be the hope he needed. In the end, dead trees never sprout…they just cast a thin sickly pall over the woods they crowd. _

His team didn't realize it, no one did. John wasn't sunshine and "smell the roses." He was the storm on the horizon, the gray that blanketed vibrancy, cloaking everything in wrong choices, bad decisions, and things that always exacted a cost from those around him: Dex, Mitch, Sumner, Ford, the Genii. His mother.

The body count was stacking up; most of his chains weren't physical.

Jumper One sat quietly in her berth, the hatch opening as John approached. He'd given up the balcony since coming back. They always found him if he went there; morning, afternoon or night. The fresh air wasn't worth the price of pretending, especially not during moments like this where he had to work hard enough just to keep his fist from slamming into the wall.

_Pain._

As he stepped through the rear of the ship, John realized he missed being in pain. Why? Maybe it was because at least if he was in pain, he'd feel something. _Anything_. Right now, he woke and lived and slept with a constant numbness that permeated him from his head to his toes. Sometimes he wasn't even sure his feet were touching the ground.

Maybe he would fly, like Naem's falcons.

Jumper One powered up.

_**/Fly**/_

_I want to. Fly straight upward, to the nearest star, and burn like a blaze of glory, hot and fast._

Surely, he'd feel that.

He wanted to be strong again. Not pathetic, sad, and depressed, sitting in his ship seeking comfort from an inanimate object because he couldn't wrap his mind around the truths that his experience had revealed to him.

John didn't know how to be cared for anymore than he knew how to care. He'd never had enough of the one to teach him the other. Naem had waltzed in that opening and gave him more caring in the span of months than he'd ever had in his previous thirty plus years, and even with the pain he'd caused John, the caring…it'd woken something up inside of him that he hadn't even realized was sleeping.

_Need._

_**/Fly/**_

The ship didn't understand his need any better than Sheppard did. What did he need? Friends – he had that, at least, he supposed that he and McKay were friends, even after what happened on Arstaem; Teyla, Ronon, Elizabeth and Carson, even Radek. Possibly Lorne. Not so much Ford after that last stunt, assuming the Lieutenant lived…no, he wouldn't be on John Sheppard's Christmas card list after that.

So, he could do friends, surface-wise. Maybe that was the problem. None of those people really knew him. He didn't have anyone to sit down at night and talk about his hopes and fears, his screw-ups and accomplishments. No one stood next to him and rooted him on, cheered for him when the home team was two plays down and the ninth inning was looming. For all that John enjoyed being around these people, he didn't truly believe he was _important_ to them.

Loneliness was dragging him down, taunting him with Naem, whispering that the pain was worth it, maybe. It'd been so long since John had leaned on anyone, told them why he was sad, angry, afraid…

"_John, there was nothing you could do." His mother cupped his chin, raising it until he looked at her, tear stained cheeks and hands full of his dead puppy, swaddled in blankets. "He was sick, and sometimes not even doctors can fix the ones we love."_

It wouldn't be many years later that he'd hold her letter where she told him again that all things must die, and that it was her turn. John hadn't cried then – he hadn't cried since that day. He'd been fresh from the painful events in Afghanistan, raw from the betrayal of people he'd believed in. His mom would've understood, she would've said, "You did the right thing, John." But not his dad. His dad hadn't cared that all he'd wanted to do was save lives. That's all he'd wanted to do.

The only problem with trying to save everyone else is that John had forgotten to ask, who was going to save him?

OoO

They came running into the infirmary, Rodney in Ronon's arms, unconscious. Kate leaped from the chair, the book falling to the floor with a thud she didn't even hear. "What happened?"

But like the eerily similar scene a week ago in the gateroom, the medical team swarmed on them, and Kate stood on the outside, watching, bewildered.

A nurse took her arm. "You need to wait outside, please."

She pulled her arm from the woman's grip. "I'm sitting with Colonel Sheppard," she replied, sharply. "I'm not going anywhere."

Kate had made mistakes. Others were paying for it, and she'd be damned if she was going to leave. She'd told Rodney she'd stay with John, and that's what she was going to do.

"Okay." The nurse was one Kate had seen before, Emily, or something like that. She nodded at the chair. "Just stay out of the way." Then she was gone, pulling the curtain around John's bed and blocking Kate's view of the team working on Rodney.

She turned, and stared at the book. It'd fallen with the pages down and the binding up. When she lifted it, she found two pages bent and folded, and numbly, she straightened them and ran her palm over the creases, trying to get them as flat as possible.

It wasn't even her book.

Kate looked at John and smiled reassuringly. "Rodney will be fine. I'm sure of it."

The sound of his ventilator was the only answer.

_Please, be all right!_

She returned to the chair and opened back up to the page she'd been reading, starting from where she'd left off. "_It's not at all from friendship_, _declared Nicholas, flaring up and turning away as if from a shameful aspersion…"_

OoO

_**Interlude: Ronon**_

Ronon had haunts.

He'd been with Sheppard's people for almost a year, their time, and he'd mapped out the places he liked the best in the city. Atlantis was…well, something unique. Ronon wouldn't say amazing, because he'd seen too much death, destruction, and decay to even know what would fit that definition again. But he figured if he'd seen anything that came close to that in the last seven years, it'd be Atlantis.

'Course, Ronon had his favorite places. In a city as big as Atlantis, you had to have priorities on where you wanted to go.

He liked the mess hall.

Too many years spent scratching in berry bushes and snaring rodents. Being able to just walk into a room full of food, and all you had to do was answer the question of, "What d'you want tonight, Mr. Dex?"

That's what the chief of the mess hall always called him. Mr. Dex. Not Specialist or Ronon, but Mister. Kind of weird, but he liked it. Specialist carried a lot of…well, it carried a lot. Mister was bland, inane, and didn't mean anything.

So, the mess hall was probably top of the list. Next, that'd be the gym. Life alone hadn't kept him in top shape. He wasn't blind or stupid. Ronon knew he could hand just about everyone their … how had Sheppard put it? Hand them their ass…that was it. Yeah. Ronon could do that.

The gym rocked, another Earth-saying. All that equipment saved time – he could work more with less, and that was always a good thing.

Freed him for other important things, like movies and popcorn, and target practice. Which brought Ronon to another favorite place: the range. A big room on the west side of the city. There were special properties that McKay had droned on about when Ronon had made the mistake to ask, "Isn't it dangerous to fire in the city?"

After a rapid fire explanation stretching into painful minutes for Ronon, McKay had finally finished his speech and said, "You didn't understand a word I said, did you?"

Ronon had stared enigmatically at him.

"Right. Just…firing in here, safe. Firing in other places, like labs and control rooms, bad. Okay?"

"Okay."

McKay's learning curve for Ronon's attention span was pretty good, at least.

It wasn't a big surprise that after another frustrating therapy session, Ronon made a beeline for the gym. He was kind of pissed about the whole situation, and getting tired of being told what to do by that doctor.

Ronon didn't need therapy. He didn't need to talk about his feelings, or go over what'd happened on Arstaem. They'd given a report.

The gym was empty except for Sheppard and McKay. He frowned, but went in, because he figured maybe he should be there to keep them from killing each other. Sheppard and McKay were alternating between being friendly and being at each other's throat.

"Hey Ronon," Sheppard called.

Ronon jerked his head. "Hey."

"Oh, great, now there's a witness to my embarrassment."

They were going to fight, Ronon could tell that much. Both of them had boxing gloves out and were taping their wrists. This was a bad idea.

"McKay – don't think this is what she had in mind."

Sheppard's eyebrows scrunched, his eyes narrowed, and he bit the edge of the tape till it ripped, spitting the roll into the bag and asking suspiciously, "Who had in mind?"

Ronon debated the wisdom of telling Sheppard about Heightmeyer's touch therapy for a few short moments, then figured he preferred not having Sheppard go off. He worked at keeping his thoughts to himself and shrugged. "Doc said she wanted us to talk, keep communication running in a line, or, something." At least he didn't have to work hard at feigning confusion.

"Keep the lines of communication open," McKay corrected automatically. He stared at his gloved hands, holding them up and looking uncertain. "I don't think I've ever worn boxing gloves before."

Sheppard made a face and stood. "Really. Couldn't tell." He looked skeptically at McKay. "You sure you wanna do this?"

Sunlight spilling in from the window created a bright glare, slanting until it touched the floor a few lengths away. Ronon was standing in the beam for a few moments before he realized he'd been squinting at both of them, looking like an idiot. Ronon had to take a step towards the bench to get out of the light, but when he did, he felt the air noticeably cool on the other side of the sunbeam. All of the rooms carried a chill during the night lately, as whatever passed for a cold season was beginning on Lantea.

They'd left winter on Arstaem only to catch the beginning of it here.

Ronon was getting sick of being cold. He shifted till the sunbeam struck his chest without reaching his face and enjoyed the warmth that began to immediately seep through his shirt. He leaned laconically against the edge of the window frame. "You might want to get a medical team on standby."

"Ha ha – everyone thinks the geek can't punch." McKay pushed a fat-gloved hand in the air towards Sheppard. "Let's see what you've got."

Yeah. This was really a bad idea.

So, Ronon decided he'd stick around, even though he'd came here in hopes of getting some one-on-one time with the punching bag.

"Remember, nothing personal," Sheppard said.

He awkwardly pushed a mouth guard in place. Both Sheppard and McKay wore padded helmets on their heads. Bunch of kids, Ronon thought. These people often wondered why Ronon could kick their ass – this was why. Soft, all of them. On Sateda, when you went up in practice combat, you were just as likely to get hurt as when it was real.

Which was the point. The bad guys wouldn't give you time to put on padded helmets and mouth guards.

If they'd asked him, Ronon would've warned them this was gonna get ugly. On most days, Sheppard could take McKay. If Ronon was having a bad day, Sheppard even had a chance at taking _him_. But Sheppard was the one having a bad day – he looked tired, run down. McKay was getting more sleep than usual because of the work restrictions, and he had the advantage here. Of course, he probably didn't know it.

McKay danced like a novice, his hands up in front of his face. He held them too tight, too close. Sheppard was looser, his hands lower, waiting. He bounced less, moved with purpose more. McKay threw the first punch, and Ronon wasn't surprised to see Sheppard block it without a lot of effort.

What did surprise Ronon was Sheppard following with a sucker punch to McKay's gut. He didn't even let the guy gradually learn that he might be in over his head. Huh.

"Ow!"

"You sure you still wanna do this?"

McKay straightened and glared. His hands came up. "Positive." His reply was clipped and heated.

Ronon didn't get it. He watched as they circled some more, and as they tested each other with punches, most blocked, a few getting by to actually hit something; Ronon tried to figure out why the events on Arstaem were messing with their minds so much. He believed in keeping the past in the past. What happened, happened. You can't change it, so why dwell there?

This seeing a mind doctor, talking about feelings…touching. Ronon couldn't see how it was gonna help anything. If Kate saw McKay and Sheppard fighting it out, would she think this was good _therapy_? Seemed pretty pointless to him.

"Not so bad, after all?" panted McKay.

Sheppard was breathing hard; blood smeared the corner of his mouth and chin. McKay had a small stain of it showing underneath his nose. Huh. Ronon was surprised the man wasn't whining about it being broken.

"Yeah, you're a regular Mohammed Ali," grunted Sheppard. Then he slammed a hook against McKay's chin that sent the man staggering sideways.

Before Sheppard could react, McKay turned his stagger forwards, and slammed into him, driving them both to the mat. Ronon felt the floor move a little under his feet. He wasn't sure whether to smile or cringe. He'd never seen these two go at it.

Quick enough, Sheppard pushed McKay off, rolled away, and was back on his feet. "We're boxing, not street fighting, Rodney. Knock it off."

"Since when do rules matter to you?" McKay got up. He wiped a hand against his nose and seemed surprised by the blood on his skin.

"They always matter. That doesn't mean I follow them when it means someone is gonna get hurt." Sheppard stumbled a little as they resumed circling.

"Oh, right. Superman Sheppard. Always knows what's best." McKay didn't have his hands up, and Sheppard drilled one at his face; the blow whipped McKay's head back.

Ronon straightened. This was getting a little violent. "I'm not hauling either of you to the infirmary."

"Sometimes, I _do_," Sheppard replied tightly, ignoring Ronon and answering McKay.

McKay got Sheppard in the gut by feinting and moving fast. Ronon was impressed. He'd say one thing for the scientist – he was learning. Sheppard was bent at the waist, wheezing a little from the effort of sucking in air after having it rapidly forced out. McKay was standing too close, being lured in by Sheppard. Ronon saw it coming from far away.

"And sometimes you don't," McKay snarled. "Sometimes you don't give anyone else the chance to do their jobs. You've got a hero complex as big as the city and I'm sick of it."

The kick came suddenly, slicing McKay's feet out from under him, and driving him back against the mat with a thud. He sputtered and gasped. Sheppard was struggling. "I let you do your job plenty of times. Our lives have depended on it more often than I care to remember."

Ronon revised his opinion of this form of therapy. They were at least talking. He pushed away from the window and leaned over McKay. "Need a hand?" Seeing how he was the neutral party here.

McKay's angry look almost made Ronon chuckle. He thrust a hand upwards and Ronon wrapped his around McKay's wrist, hefting him up with a fast jerk. Once McKay was steady enough, Ronon backed away. Not too far. He was serious – he wasn't going to be hauling either one of their sorry selves to the infirmary.

They weren't moving around much anymore. Ronon could see reddened splotches that'd rise into some nice bruises. It finally occurred to him that Beckett might be pissed at Ronon for letting this happen.

"Is that it? You resent being unable to save yourself; you were too _embarrassed_ to talk about what was wrong on Arstaem?" McKay made sure to dodge back after he made his accusation.

Ronon wasn't the kind to analyze things, but listening to both of them, he couldn't help but think McKay might be onto something.

Problem is, Sheppard got it, too. He lunged forward, going after McKay with renewed ferocity. Ronon lurched between them, suddenly aware that it was going too far. McKay wasn't stupid, he got behind Ronon, and held on. Sheppard tried to go through Ronon, and that wasn't happening.

"Stop it, Sheppard," Ronon scolded. He gripped the colonel's arms and kept him from punching.

McKay leaned his head around, surprise registering. "That's it? You were _ashamed?_"

"Get the fuck off me, Ronon," Sheppard ordered.

"Not until you quit trying to kill McKay."

"I'm not gonna kill McKay."

Ronon let Sheppard go, but stayed between the two of them. Both were breathing raggedly, but Sheppard looked defeated. McKay stepped around Ronon, his eyes heavy. "You had – _have _– nothing to be ashamed of." He swallowed and looked sick. "If anyone does, it's me, and Ronon…"

"Speak for yourself," Ronon growled. Yeah, he'd come to some wrong conclusions, but it wasn't the first time, and it probably wasn't the last. Like he'd told them before, he didn't carry a lot of guilt for making mistakes. They were a fact of life.

"Fine, fine, whatever," McKay snapped irritably at Ronon.

Ronon softened. "He's right, you know," he said to Sheppard. "It wasn't your fault. The guy was crazy."

"Yeah." Sheppard blinked and Ronon felt awkward and uncomfortable. Emotions, affection, caring, he wasn't really used to it anymore. Especially not with a bunch of guys from his team.

Then again, there'd been a time when he had. Ronon owed Sheppard a lot. He reached for the colonel, gathered him up in a bear hug – touch, right, just like the Doc prescribed – and tossed him towards McKay after holding him tight for just a second…or two.

"Movie?" Ronon asked, grinning at the shocked look on Sheppard's face. "Popcorn?" Ronon liked it with extra butter. And salt.

"Great idea," McKay said, only faltering a little. "An American Werewolf in London arrived on the last trip – for some reason, a creepy movie appeals."

"Werewolf?" Ronon wondered if they were teasing him again. He'd never heard of a werewolf. Sounded pretty bad ass though.

Sheppard still looked a little off-balance, but he grinned weakly. "Movie and popcorn it is." He started pulling off his gloves and moving stiffly towards their gym bags in the corner. "Call Teyla, see if she can come. She's missed the last two movies."

As they walked out, Ronon stared at their faces and suggested, "You should probably put some ice on those bruises."

They had quite a few.

OoO

Three hours and only ten more pages of Tolstoy passed before the curtain separating Kate and John from the rest of the infirmary was pulled open, revealing a tired Carson and two nurses. One was a man she had seen before – Jeremy Long. He was a replacement for a woman nurse who had been killed off-world two months ago. While helping a group of villagers, the wraith had attacked and she'd been culled. Just one more statistic in the monthly casualty reports. The other nurse was one that had been on Atlantis from the moment the expedition had left Earth, over two years ago, Lisa Meyers.

"What happened?" The book closed in her lap, because along with the worried and weary lines around Carson's mouth and eyes, overlaid along his forehead, Kate hadn't failed to see the crash cart Lisa pulled near John's bed, and the tray of equipment Jeremy held in his hands. "Rodney, is he --"

"He's going to be fine." Carson nodded at Lisa, who began adding wires to John's head. "In fact, it'd be best if you sat with him while we begin treatment on John. Teyla can explain what happened."

Kate's heart had begun to beat faster. "Wait – treatment, Rodney found the device he was looking for? Will it work?" She had so many questions, but time was at a premium. Wasn't it always? Here on Atlantis, it seemed that time was rarely in their favor.

The two nurses kept working. Jeremy set the tray on the metal table, and started to draw blood. Lisa finished wiring up the colonel's head and Kate realized it was an EEG. He'd been wired earlier, but after Carson had said there was nothing more to do, all non-essential wires and tubes had been removed. _"To give him as much comfort as we can,"_ Carson had said.

The return of wires gave Kate a rush of emotion.

Carson had previously given her just a cursory amount of attention, most of him focused on what his people were doing, and the read-outs on the machines surrounding John. When Kate stayed, rooted to her spot, he focused entirely on her, waving for her to follow him away from John's side.

"Love, you need to be somewhere else while we do this." Guilt and remorse flashed across Carson's face. "Elizabeth and Radek made considerable progress translating how the device works, and we know enough to know it won't be a pleasant time for the colonel. I think he'd rather not have an audience for what's to come."

It was then that Kate realized just how empty the infirmary was. Teyla and Ronon were hovering by Rodney, who lay silent and still, more machines wired to him. A clerk was typing information into a computer at the far end of the infirmary, but otherwise, no one else was to be seen.

The only sound was that of her breathing and the machines beeping. Everyone seemed suspended in what was about to come. Why? What did the device do? A ball of cold, cold ice grew in her stomach.

"What does it do?" She had to know. This was her fault; these men were in these beds because of her actions, or lack of. Kate had always told her patients that knowledge was power. That knowing was coping. You couldn't move forward if you didn't understand what you were leaving behind.

The smile Carson gave her was pitying. He reached for her hand, the one not wrapped around the thick volume she was clinging to for support, and squeezed. "It was developed for victims of spinal injuries and other neurological diseases – to cure paralysis, Parkinson's, Multiple Sclerosis. It regenerates damaged neural pathways and tissues, but the data shows that when the device was used on non-Ancients, there's a great deal of pain in the process."

Kate understood his earlier expression. "So, this is going to hurt John?"

"Yes." Carson pulled the device from his pocket after letting her arm go. He was preoccupied, studying it with uneasiness. "A great deal. It'll essentially regenerate burned out neural paths – think of growing pains magnified enormously."

It was just a small, black box. How could anything so small and plain do what Carson said it would?

She looked over her shoulder. The nurses were done preparing John and waited. Jeremy's muscled arms suddenly said more to Kate than he was in good physical condition. He was there to hold John down. Lisa stood by, restraints waiting if they were needed.

Kate felt sick.

"He'd rather the pain than dying," Carson said.

When she didn't answer, he took her silence as the end of her questions, and gave her one more sympathetic smile, before returning to John's side. The curtain was pulled. What a futile thing to do, she thought. Thin cotton wasn't going to block out sounds.

She hadn't replied to Carson because she wasn't so sure that John held the same belief. Not anymore. Once, he had. But every day, week, month and year, John was scarred just that little bit deeper by the things he'd had to do to keep them all alive. Too many deaths, too much killing, and a whole lot of pain. He would always fight, she knew that, not because he wanted to, but rather because of those people _around_ him that wanted him to.

Kate had learned that was the kind of man John Sheppard was.


	4. Chapter 4

Kate sat with her back against the wall and uneasily regarded John. "You look --"

He grimaced. "Like hell." John touched his split lip and looked sheepish. "Just trying out some different forms of therapy."

"Colonel…may I call you John?" He nodded, somewhat reluctantly. "John, therapy isn't meant to be bloody. I'm not sure what you did, and I probably don't want to know, but tell me it helped?" Kate would hate to think he'd gone through the grinder and had no pay-off to show for it.

A cool breeze made her shiver. The sun was hiding behind ominous looking clouds, and she hoped it might escape just long enough to spread some warmth for the rest of this session.

"It helped," he answered evenly.

The balcony was his idea. Tired of walls, he'd joked. Kate sympathized. Sometimes she got sick of them also, and she didn't have the trauma of being kept a coveted prisoner for months.

"That's good. And how are you sleeping?" She saw the lie form. "If you aren't honest with me, I can't help you, and all of this will be for nothing."

The lie disappeared; disgruntlement wandered in. "Like hell."

At first, she thought he meant it in the general "get lost" sentiment, but after a few beats of time she realized, with some surprise, that he meant it literally. He was actually opening up and admitting what was already painfully obvious to her. Kate nodded, because she'd been expecting him to have insomnia, she just hadn't expected him to divulge it so easily. She opened the folder on her lap and fetched a paper with a scrawled signature across the bottom. She'd had Carson write out prescriptions in advance, and the one in question was a sleeping pill. She handed it to John.

He stared unhappily before finally taking it.

"It's a low dose. I suggest you begin with one, and if that doesn't work, try two. If that still isn't enough, let me know and we can look into another medication."

The only sound that followed the exchange was the ruffling of papers in the cool breeze that did nothing to warm her. Kate studied John pensively. "Do you mind if we talk about something else?" she asked.

"About what?"

"Your team – specifically, I'm concerned about Teyla, and Rodney." She pursed her lips before adding softly, "You and Rodney, specifically."

They were on the same team. They needed to work closely, and have a certain level of trust – yet Kate knew that events on Arstaem had damaged that trust. What she needed to find out was just how badly, and if it was repairable. She hoped they were rebuilding those walls already, but getting either one to open up and talk to her was proving to be an exercise in frustration.

And Teyla. The woman was slowly being eaten up from the inside out by something, and Kate hoped that John might have some insight as to why.

John's nylon exercise pants made a zippered noise as he shifted and draped one long leg over the other; he was going for forced casualness. "Rodney and I are fine. What's wrong with Teyla?"

The sun poked weakly through a thin layer of stratus clouds, heavy and dark overhead, and a gustier breeze blew across her skin. Sometimes, John could present himself as an impenetrable wall and Kate felt she'd never break through. She wasn't sure what to think about his unqualified statement regarding Rodney, but she'd set it aside for later. She'd take his word for now…and observe. "She seems preoccupied, restless – bothered. She started to talk to me," Kate shook her head, "but then pulled back. I'm worried, and I was hoping you might be able to offer me a reason. Did something else happen on Arstaem that isn't in the reports?" She hoped that didn't sound accusatory.

"Everything I know is in those reports."

"Then, John, I think we have a problem."

Kate spent the next few minutes facing the hard lines of John's face, sharing her worries over Teyla's internalizing something – what, Kate didn't know. Normally, she wouldn't have involved a patient in another patient's affairs and treatment, but there wasn't much in Atlantis that was normal.

Here, rules had to be bent because of the nature of what they did. Teyla was on John's team, and he knew her perhaps better than anyone else in the city. He was the one that had opened the door with the Athosians, even as ill-fated as that door had been. He'd rescued her from the wraith, and put her on his team. He'd defended her and stood by her. Now, Kate needed his help again.

By the time she'd finished, he spread his hands out, shaking his head. "I wasn't with them." John's black t-shirt ruffled against his chest. He still looked thin to Kate. He seemed to pick up on her thoughts and brought his hands back in, folding them over his front self-consciously, the same black wristband that he always wore covered up by his other hand. "Look, I want to help, I really do, but I have no clue what's eating her."

Kate wasn't surprised. She believed if John had had any idea at all, he would've come to her before now. She smiled, her earlier thoughts solidifying in her mind. "Well, then, I have a proposition for you."

OoO

John's screams had been interminable.

"Believe me, I had no idea shutting the force field down was going to hurt that much." Rodney's eyes wandered past Kate, to stare at John's bed.

"You'd do it again," Kate said softly.

"Are you kidding? I was electrocuted! I'd be crazy to willingly do that again."

His denial was as weak as his muscles. Rodney shifted in bed, looking miserable and uncomfortable. He'd been unconscious through John's treatment, in part because Carson had given him a sedative when it looked as if he'd surface during the awful moans – near the end when John's voice had grown raspy and quieter, overtaxed from the shouts. Rodney had no idea of the pain John had endured, and for once, Kate hoped he'd stay just as ignorant as he had been when he woke and found out the treatment was working.

"Of course you would," she agreed.

It was late night, twenty-four hours later. Quiet, and dim. Peaceful, finally. Though Kate didn't feel it, not deep, down inside.

Teyla and Ronon had left to get something to eat. They had stayed during all of it. During John's screams, shouts, moans and in the end, cries. Teyla had held Rodney's hand, and then John's. Carson didn't bother telling them to stay away. Ronon sat by Rodney's side, a look that said "I'm here" even though Rodney couldn't see it, and then he and Teyla switched, and Ronon helped Jeremy hold John down, because, as Teyla put it, "You will not use restraints on Colonel Sheppard."

When Rodney had finally been allowed to wake, after John had grown quiet, he'd demanded to see John. He was agitated, pale and sick. Trembling from the aftereffects of electrocution.

The lab had been rigged with security measures, and apparently there was much more to discover than a neurological repair device, things that were dangerous. Rodney had bypassed security measures to get into the room quickly, and when he had entered, his presence triggered a secondary security measure, a force field that went up around the cabinets holding the devices.

When he was rewiring via the crystal panels to turn it off, he shorted the force field, causing a backwash of energy that went arcing towards the nearest ungrounded body – Rodney.

Rodney had risked his life, again, for those he cared about. For John.

Kate wavered between the knowledge that they were all temporarily her patients again – to deal with the aftermath of John almost dying, and now Rodney -- and she believed they would be even more uncooperative now than before. Rodney had blamed her, blamed himself…had he ever blamed Naem? Or the man that had shot John?

She wasn't sure why she was still here, in the infirmary. Guilt, sure – she _was_ a psychologist. She had no trouble identifying that emotion. But there was more. She felt driven by a need to talk with Rodney. His earlier accusations and his anger towards her had affected her in a way nothing else had before.

Kate had always felt so self-assured. There had been little in her life to make her feel otherwise.

Seeing Rodney wearily attempt to adjust his head, Kate stood and leaned over him, enough to fluff his pillow. She pulled away and asked, "Better?"

Gruffly, he nodded.

"You're probably wondering why I'm here."

His blue eyes clouded. "I don't care."

Rodney's words were hard. He never had been one for sugar coating how he felt. Most of the time, Kate could appreciate his brutal honesty. Though she had often warned him there were times when he should strive to blunt his opinions, he rarely did. Rodney was Rodney, and if he began to change now, she'd frankly worry about why.

She deserved his emotion. Kate let herself fall back into the chair. "I know. Do you remember what you said?" Rodney's eyebrows drew in, as he tried to think back. "When you told me John likes to be read to – when you told me that you blamed yourself."

His mouth made an "Oh".

"Did you risk your life out of guilt?" she pressed.

"Don't be stupid," he snapped, pressing his eyes shut, and blocking her out of his thoughts.

"You could've waited for Radek and a team of scientists."

"Sheppard didn't have that time."

"Yes, he did. An hour wouldn't have changed anything."

Rodney's eyes opened and he turned to stare angrily at Kate. "I did what I thought necessary. I don't need or want you to look for some deeper meaning in why. Sheppard was dying and the device that would save his life was five meters in front of me. I didn't know it was going to short when I crossed the crystals. But if you need to know if I'd give my life for Sheppard's, yes." His body trembled harder. "A hundred times, yes. I screwed up on Doranda and almost killed us both. Then, on Arstaem, I betrayed his trust and didn't give him the trust back that he has given me. But this…_this_ goes much deeper than that, and if you, as a psychologist, can't see that, then I can't help you understand. Sheppard once told me that losing a friend over what happened, it wasn't worth it. He's right. I didn't see it clearly until he was dying." His eyes grew wistful and Kate was sure he wasn't seeing her anymore. "It's funny, the things you realize when you're about to lose everything."

Kate swallowed against the painful lump in her throat. He'd totally misinterpreted what she had meant, and now, she didn't have it in her to clarify. She had wondered if he'd risked his life out of a way to repay Sheppard – his life, for John's. An ultimate apology for the wrongs Rodney believed he'd committed.

Even if John had never felt the wrongs near so deep as Rodney did.

And now, with his emotional confession, Kate just didn't have it in her to dig any deeper. Did it matter? Would it change anything? Sometimes, maybe there were things better laid to rest, and left alone. Maybe not all knowledge was power. Maybe some of it was just pain.

And Rodney's belief that she couldn't understand hurt her most of all, because maybe he was right.

OoO

The fire crackled and popped; sparks flew up and out. Kate felt the heat against her face. Behind her, their tents were pitched, and overhead, the stars blinked sleepily at them.

Ronon had dragged three large sitting logs and arranged them around the fire pit John had dug. Rodney was sitting near Kate, poking a green stick with some kind of Athosian meat stuck to the end, into the flame. The juice leaked onto the hot coals, sending more smoke into the air. It smelled delicious.

They had hiked from the valley floor where they'd left the Jumper that morning. Conversation had been sparse until they had started a game of "harmful, not harmful" in regards to the plant life they saw.

Rodney had pointed to a bush with purple berries and raised a questioning look at the others. John had gone with, "Harmful, because it's always the pretty ones that are dangerous." Teyla had agreed, and there was a trace of something in her tone that alarmed Kate.

Carson guessed harmful, too, and Rodney had scowled and said, "Follower."

Ronon had grinned. "Harmless."

He had taken a berry and popped it into his mouth, causing Carson to drop his bag and splutter, "What the devil are you doing, Son!"

That's when John had looked suspicious and reached around Ronon, yanking a folded set of papers from Ronon's back pocket. When he unfolded them and started reading, "Botanical report: Lantea--" Rodney had yanked it out of John's hands and scanned the first page before accusing, "You cheated!"

Smiling casually, Ronon had taken a few more of the apparently harmless berries and shrugged. "Not cheating, McKay. Tactical advantage."

John had been amused, Teyla, as well. Rodney, despite his bluster, was enjoying himself, and only Carson seemed mildly putout by the scene. Kate had patted his shoulder and whispered, "This is their _normal_. Enjoy it," before she had hurried to get behind Teyla to continue hiking towards their goal. She knew Carson was just feeling the stress of too much worry, for all of his friends.

The road to recovery wasn't a straight line. It was peaks, and valleys, and sometimes you're up and other times you're down. Kate was smart enough to enjoy the peak they were on, and wary enough to anticipate the valley to come. After all, she had dragged them out here on this trip for a reason.

Staring at John and the others through the firelight, Kate felt for the first time that maybe she was letting herself get too close. She'd been working with these people for going on four weeks. She'd held their hands (figuratively most of the time), and she had listened to inner thoughts and concerns, though often grudgingly given. There had been bumps, but she couldn't say any progress ever came easy.

Her clinical distance was naturally limited due to the nature of being a member of a small expedition, but the treatment protocols she had set for these five were crumbling even the small walls she usually kept herself behind.

Could she be both a friend and a psychologist?

It was a question that followed her to her sleeping bag that night.

The next day dawned early – the scuffling noises outside her tent woke her before she felt quite ready. She'd slept in her clothes, a camping practice she'd learned from her youth. One of the few lessons she'd actually retained about being outdoorsy. Feeling the sting of the morning chill, Kate was thankful for the warmth. She only took time enough to pull a brush through her hair before unzipping the canvas door and heading for the fire being built and nurtured by Ronon.

"You're up early," Kate observed. She didn't mince time in getting near enough to the flame and stretching her hands out to catch the meager warmth provided.

He grunted and wiped his hands against his leather pants leaving charcoal trails across his thighs, before sitting on the log opposite her. With a long, thin stick, he shifted a log on the outside of the fire until it fell closer to the center.

Kate tried not to take his coolness personally. Ronon wasn't like Teyla's people – in many ways, he was unlike any they had come across, except the Genii, maybe. Militaristic. The primary difference being that Ronon was not subtle. If there had been a time on Sateda when he used strategy over brute force, it had been beaten from him in his years running from the wraith. There was little strategy involved in running, beyond hiding and staying alive, and killing any wraith that were unfortunate enough to get near him.

The tracking device had made sure of that.

"Ronon, I know that you believe this is needless, but will you be honest with me – just one question, and then I'll leave you alone."

His eyebrow arched skeptically as he watched Kate through the wispy smoke trails. "Just one?" Kate nodded. "And you'll leave me alone – no more group therapy, having to sit in that room full of pillows, no more sessions?"

"No more."

He was studying Kate, trying to decide if the offer was legitimate, when finally he jerked his head roughly and said, "Okay. Ask."

"Do you have nightmares?"

The other tents were silent and still in the early morning; it was just them, and Kate hoped it would be enough for Ronon to truly open up. A low fog hung over the ground, except for their camp. They'd set the tents and fire pit on a natural rise.

She scooted a little closer to the strengthening fire.

"You think anyone that's been through what I have wouldn't?" he grudgingly asked. The branch was held in a tighter grip. "What kind of question is that?"

"You agreed to answer honestly," Kate reminded him.

Ronon kept on staring, but now there was something more than wariness written on his face. A little respect, possibly? His mouth opened a little and he rubbed at his chin – "Yeah…I've got nightmares."

"My job is to make them better." Kate smiled and tilted her head towards the tents. "To get rid of those nightmares, for _all_ of you."

The big man shook his head and stood. "That's where you're wrong, Doc. You can't get rid of them all. Some nightmares aren't meant to leave." He stabbed the branch into the ground and walked away, leaving the vibrating pole behind. Kate exhaled.

_Walk softly in the woods of autumn, lest danger hear your approach_ – a poem written centuries ago by a famous medieval king – and Kate felt as if her feet were as big as the ocean, stomping through the leaf-strewn forests. She'd thought, for just a moment, that she'd opened the door that would let her reach Ronon.

Maybe it was time to accept that she couldn't help everyone. Or that not everyone needed her help.

OoO

_**Interlude: Carson**_

His office wasn't big. It wasn't spacious, or pretty. It had room for a desk, a door, no windows, and a couple of chairs for those times when he had people to talk to, or they had to talk to him.

Sometimes, Carson loved it.

Other times, he hated it.

Right now…he both loved and hated it.

Loved it for the privacy he at last had, privacy where he could be alone and give in to every awful feeling he'd been bottling up the best he could while trying to keep John alive, and then Rodney, and then John again, during a treatment that had been almost more horrific than the initial wound. No, scratch that, the treatment was definitely worse. If he closed his eyes, he could still hear John's screams.

Which brought him back to the reasons why he hated his office -- because of what it represented. He was a doctor, and half the time he couldn't do a damn thing to ease the suffering of his patients, or save the lives he cared for.

It wasn't that Carson was immune to losing patients. He'd lost more than a few in his career. It came with the job. You can't save them all – the human body is only so resilient, and some conditions are too great for mere technology to overcome. But he'd been spoiled. Coming to Atlantis, the men and women he treated were young, in the prime of their life, and everyone had been certified fit before walking through that 'gate.

He didn't treat dying geriatric patients here, or the chronically ill and diseased. He could almost forget how hard it was to tell someone, "There's nothing I can do," until something like this brought it all back.

And in some ways, it made it all the harder.

When he had to pull a white sheet over a too-young face, or a too-_old_ face. Writing the cause of death as health complications related to old age for a twenty-five year old man. Or something else equally traumatic – explosive trauma, drowning, gunshot wound. And it was never anything natural.

Carson dropped into his chair, groaning from bone-deep weariness that made him feel decades older than he was. If he were an artist, with a pencil and an eraser, what he'd give to just erase the past three months. To make it all go away.

Staring down, Carson realized his desk was littered with post-it notes. Files he needed to update, patient records. Too many "while you were away" messages from biology and botany on pending cases. Grimacing at the mess, Carson thought it'd take weeks to get caught up. Lately, he wondered why he bothered trying.

And yet, he peeled five off the middle of the desk and tossed them to the side he classified as priority, before leaning over and opening his drawer. He pulled the bottle of Glenmorangie out along with a glass, and poured just a small shot, before capping it and returning the bottle to desk.

Taking the glass in his hand, Carson leaned back in his chair, and stared at the door leading to the infirmary. His eyes burned, along with his muscles.

God, what an awful week it'd been.

No one knew more than he the terrible weight of being incapable of helping a patient, especially when that patient was a friend. When they lay on a bed, dying, and they weren't just a random face. No one knew the utter drive-you-insane frustration of having nothing to do but palliative care for that friend. To sit by and watch their vitals fall degree by degree and know the ending is coming, and there's nothing you can do to prevent it, to keep away that final minute, second -- defining moment -- from one breath to the next when you know that whatever it is that makes a person _them_ leaves.

And all your training, degrees and intelligence can't stop it.

Lifting his glass to his lips, Carson figured that sometimes all you had was the good outcome in the end. It didn't matter if it was luck, providence, or divine intervention – the bottom line was that John would recover, and so would Rodney.

If Rodney was man enough to risk his life for John, then Carson was man enough to drink to it afterwards and admit the miracle had nothing to do with his skills as a doctor. It had to do with Rodney's singular determination to not let John go like this.

They all had guilt over what happened on Arstaem. That John had suffered at Naem's hands. Rodney bore more guilt than anyone, well, maybe he and Teyla shared equally the burden of most. Teyla, for the promise she'd kept, and Rodney, for not believing in John when it mattered most. It wasn't that the rest of them hadn't had doubts, they had, but Rodney had been the most vocal. The fastest to fret. As usual.

Rodney couldn't ever get back those months on Arstaem, even if he wanted to, and he couldn't change past events. But Rodney had been able to save John now, and he'd done it, even though it'd almost taken his own life.

It wouldn't have mattered that Carson would've happily shaken Rodney. Would've said, "One life for another isn't an even exchange; this isn't a bloody flea market!" But Rodney wouldn't have listened, even if Carson had known ahead of time what the cost was going to be.

The process of atonement is usually dictated by the one that did the wrong, not the wronged one.

John hadn't demanded anything. Rodney had demanded everything.

And Carson had sat on the outside looking in, feeling a part of it, and apart _from_ it. He'd been neutral. He'd been the one that had suspected something was going on, but hadn't known what. He'd cautioned them to wait. He'd befriended Leal…and she'd known the _entire_ time what was happening to John.

The memory of her caused a sick flutter in his stomach, and Carson set the glass on his desk with a heavy thump.

He'd begun to care for her – to feel something.

By the time the anonymous Marine had cut her down with gunfire, she hadn't been the enemy. She'd died like one, though.

He closed his eyes and remembered the pyre that night – in the scheme of things, it hadn't been that long ago. He'd beamed down with a contingent of armed guards, on Caldwell's insistence. The others had refused to come, and John had been unconscious in the infirmary. Didn't matter, because Carson wouldn't have let John go back, not then, and not for all the tea in China.

People had milled around. Naem had come and gone before he'd arrived, and a part of Carson was relieved he wouldn't have to deal with that confrontation. As it was, there were angry stares, hurt ones – from those that Carson had helped heal, side by side with Leal. He stayed in the background, watching as her body was consumed in the fire, and felt the coldness of the winter night so deep it froze his bones.

He probably would've stayed until there were just ashes left, but Caldwell had called with an abrupt, "Time to go, Doctor."

Carson had spent the rest of the trip to Atlantis not knowing what to feel.

Thinking about the road from there to here, in the quietness, he heard their voices; Rodney and John.

Three months later, and two close calls…were they making it? Would they recover?

Carson lifted his glass and walked to the door, just enough so that he could see them for himself. They were pale, tired…they still wore the cloak of being perilously close to the point of no return, but they were talking.

Warmly, the easy affection they had for each other in the open now when they didn't know anyone was near to see, except each other.

Whatever had been between them after Arstaem, Carson knew they'd found a way past it before the recent tragic events. Had there ever been a doubt that they'd find a way? If someone asked Carson to put a finger on what it was those two shared, he didn't think he could do it. Not in a million years. They bickered more than two small boys, but when push came to shove, they held each other up. When one needed the other, they were there. Sometimes, Carson was sure they didn't even realize they were doing it.

There was something indefinable in their ways. In those weeks immediately following Arstaem, John had been as lost as they all had been, and so much more. It'd been unfair. They'd expected him to be something he wasn't. To suddenly turn into an open book and share feelings that…well, even feelings Carson struggled to put words to afterwards.

It felt good, cathartic, to just stand and watch them. Carson had an odd feeling that so long as those two friends of his stayed this way that nothing bad would ever happen to Atlantis.

_Sentimental muck_, he thought with a shake of his head. _Melancholy thoughts brought on by all we've been through._

Still, as Carson left the door and went back to his desk, he figured if being a sentimentalist was the worst thing he was accused of this year, then maybe it wouldn't be such a bad year after all.

OoO

"How could you be so stupid?"

"Rodney," John warned.

Ronon tossed his mud-covered dreadlocks over his shoulder, reluctantly accepting he'd gotten as much silt out of them that he could. He growled, "Coming here wasn't my idea."

"Of course not, but tying the rope to a dead tree was." Rodney glared at the slack pile of dirt-stained cord that lay uselessly by his feet. "Now we're wet, trapped, Teyla's hurt and we've got to wait until a rescue party shows up."

Kate sighed and shifted her numb backside. Camping trip. Trust issues. Bonding. It'd seemed like a fantastic idea during the planning, but what was it they said about good intentions? Too bad no one had ever mentioned the road to hell had been paved in _mud_. A simple trust exercise – Ronon had anchored the rope, and they were all in process of rappelling down the steep hillside when the anchor had pulled up at the roots, carrying Ronon, and the rest of them down to the rocky silt-covered stretch of shore above a river that raged and snarled right below their toes.

"Teyla's holding her own," Carson said, her head pillowed in his lap. Carson was as dirty as the rest of them. It certainly wasn't sanitary conditions. But then again, Teyla's visible wounds were few. The real damage, Kate knew, was hidden underneath skin. She'd been hit by the tree that followed them down, and blunt-force trauma could be very nasty and serious.

"That's great, because I'm sure by the time we're rescued I'm going to be septic." Rodney had his back against the cliff-face, his knees half-up, and an arm stretched across his chest, holding the other tight to his body; blood had dried on the skin between his fingers.

John was looking at the swollen river only a couple meters below them. Was he thinking about a way out, Kate wondered, or maybe just lost in memories that he couldn't keep away. He was stuck sitting between Ronon and Rodney, then Carson, with Teyla in his lap, and Kate sat on the farthest end with the least amount of room. The narrow edge was widest where Ronon sat and gradually lost ground, tapering away into nothing just a few meters from where Kate sat.

Tufts of grass grew stubbornly amidst the rock and bare dirt, a few branches reached towards the sunlight, but otherwise, erosion had scraped most of the life into the river over the past millennia.

It was unfortunate that the actual sun wasn't shining – Kate was freezing, and she could tell by the small, barely imperceptible shivers from the others that she wasn't alone. She mimicked the others' poses and pulled her knees in as close to her chest as possible, seeking the warmth of her compacted body.

The wet mud under her soaked through her pants, and she knew her hair was limp around her face. This was _not_ a Kodak moment.

"What about swimming downstream, and finding a way back to the top to send for help?" Kate asked. "The rest of us can hold the rope; the swimmer can tie it on to help them avoid being carried away by the current." This was the time when she cursed herself for not paying enough attention in those survival courses – but she wasn't a field operative. There wasn't any reason she was needed off-world. At least, there hadn't been before.

"Current's too strong." Ronon pointed at the whitecaps. "A swimmer will get pulled under and drown --"

"Right," Rodney interrupted irritably, "And if that doesn't kill them, hypothermia will."

"Is the water that cold?" Kate hadn't exactly studied the reports on the mainland, either. Beyond the "livable, and fertile soils" part. And she only knew that much because Elizabeth had asked for her assessment of the Athosians' state of mind in leaving the city. To absolve herself of blame after the events when the Athosians had been suspected of betraying their movements to the wraith, and had relocated to the mainland. Elizabeth had been duly upset at the thought that her actions had made them feel unwelcome.

In the end, Kate had concluded that it may have been the catalyst, but it wasn't why the Athosians remained on the mainland. There were multiple reasons – their beliefs in the Ancestors, the events leading to the energy monster's release and right after, coupled with the persecution of their people – it'd been a rocky start, but the help they had been given overcame the negatives.

"It's that cold," John replied dryly. He kicked his heel, dislodging a chunk of clinging dun-colored mud from his boot. "At least it is this time of year."

A low moan escaped Teyla's lips. Kate watched as the Athosian's eyes fluttered until they finally stayed open. "John?" She sounded confused and disoriented. Even as she finished calling for him, Teyla tried to sit.

"No, no…rest, Teyla, you've had a wee fall. Stay down." Carson pushed gently against Teyla's shoulder.

"Where…" she craned her head to scan the area around her and took notice of everyone sitting, pushed up against the cliff, "…are we?"

"We were playing stupid, remember?" Rodney's acerbic answer earned him a dirty look from John. He conceded by rolling his eyes and saying, "Fine, whatever – we were going down the mountain _for the fun of it_ when something went horribly wrong." His mouth twisted and he muttered quietly under his breath, "story of my life," before returning to his normal decibel range. "And a big tree was cushioned from a horrible death by your body." He smiled wryly. "Good job, by the way. I'm sure the tree appreciates it greatly."

"Rodney!"

"Oh, _what_, Sheppard – it isn't as if this isn't the way it always happens. Besides, you told me to be positive, well, I am – this is me being positive!"

"Then _aim higher_," John said tightly.

Kate noticed he shut Rodney out right after by returning his attention to the fast-moving water. When she looked away from John, Carson caught her eye and shook his head, looking very worried.

This couldn't be happening – she wasn't going to lose Teyla because of a stupid idea. Not that it'd been stupid at the time, it'd seemed like a perfectly good idea, but stupid is always _A Priori_ to the situation.

They had needed a reason to open up, to share what they were feeling, and Kate had known there was nothing in the city to help move that along. In the city, they felt safe and they each had their haunts. Therapy sessions ended more often than not with angry words exchanged, or worse yet, one or more of them just clamming up. Pills and one-way talks only took a patient so far.

What was it going to take to get these five people to a turning point?

Well, she knew one thing – losing Teyla would certainly have the opposite effect, so Kate had better start turning her thoughts towards getting them out of this. It was her idea, her fault, in a round-about way, and she wasn't completely dense. Getting back up would require someone light, because the rain had made the soil unstable. Maybe –

"Am I dying?" Teyla's voice was painfully weak.

Kate waited for Carson's denial, but instead, he took Teyla's hand in his own and rubbed his thumb over her palm. "Shhhhh, you've survived worse. Just focus on holding still, and soon a rescue team will be here. We'll get you back to the infirmary, and you'll be as good as new."

Ronon and Rodney looked at each other, but John looked at Teyla, stricken. "Doc?"

Carson's jaw flexed. "She has internal bleeding. With the right treatment, she'll make a full recovery." Unspoken was the fact that, trapped as they were, he couldn't _give_ Teyla the right treatment.

"John – I need to tell you, if I am going to die --"

"You're not going to die, Teyla!" John's eyes flashed, a mixture of panic and fear. Kate could see John wasn't convinced by his own words, but he said it anyway. It was the relationship they had.

"Stop," she protested, finding enough strength that he did. "Do you remember, in the Jumper, when the Iratus bug was taking your life – you wished to say your final words?" She was shaking from the effort, her breaths shallow and painful.

"It's not the same --"

"Yes, it is," Rodney interrupted. "Let her talk."

"Rodney, she's not gonna die!"

"You're right, she won't, because we're not going to let that happen, but she's been here before, on Arstaem – and you weren't there. Let her talk and then we'll get her out of here." Rodney put a hand lightly against John's shoulder and spoke volumes without saying anything more.

Kate wished she had an interpreter for what wasn't said, but then Rodney was pulling his hand away and John leaned across Rodney's lap, his voice thick and husky, "Fine, say what you need to say."

"I made a terrible mistake, on Arstaem." Her words were breathless and wispy now, like the mist that was beginning to rise from the edges of the river where the calmer waters reigned. "I am so sorry, John. I knew. If I had said something sooner --" Pain interrupted her and she gripped Carson's hand, biting back a moan.

John's brow wrinkled in confusion. "What do you mean, you knew?"

Rodney, too, had straightened, and something indefinable walked over his features. "You knew?" He looked sick, as if he'd been kicked in the stomach, and very angry. "You _knew_ and you never told me? You let me go on believing…how long?" When she only gasped, he demanded again, angrier, "How _long_! How long did you know, letting me believe Sheppard was --"

"Knock it off, McKay." Ronon reached across Sheppard's chest and thunked Rodney on his arm. "Save it for later."

"Save what for later?" Rodney demanded.

"The freak-out." Ronon pulled his hand back, but even he looked a little shaken by the revelation.

Carson wiped Teyla's bangs to the side, away from her eyes. His eyes glittered in the morning sun. "It doesn't matter now. It's over, and everyone's here. Knowing wouldn't have changed anything."

"Are you stupid!" Rodney almost stood before remembering there was nowhere to stand. "I've been eaten up with guilt, Carson. You should know; you're treating me for the ulcer! Knowing would've changed _everything_!"

"For you!" Carson snapped. "Not for Colonel Sheppard."

"You've got an ulcer from this…this…" John waved his hand, searching for the word that neither he nor Rodney would use because it would admit too much.

"Yes, I've got an ulcer, and just shut up. She's not dying, not if I have anything to say about it." Rodney looked up towards the top of the cliff where they'd fallen from. "Our rescue should be arriving momentarily."

"That's impossible." Kate wasn't even sure why she was speaking now, when everything else had spiraled so far out of control she might as well have just jumped into the river and ended it already. "We won't be overdue for another 24 hours."

"Ah," Rodney said, his finger pointing up to the sky, just as a Jumper flew overhead. "But what you didn't know was that I instructed Radek to come and get me early, and I stress early, preferably last night, but morning will do, to solve some potentially fatal crisis."

"You were going to wimp out," John accused.

"That's cheating, McKay." Ronon looked even more put-out than John.

Rodney shook his head. "No, it isn't, _tactical advantage, _remember?" He smiled smugly. "You're just pissed because you couldn't do it."

If it weren't for the ridiculousness of the situation, Kate might have cried. As it were, though, Teyla lay huddled against Carson, looking devastated, hurting through her injuries and her guilt.

"Colonel," Teyla whispered. "When we are back, I will tell Elizabeth I wish to resign from your team."

Kate could hear shouts coming from above. Rodney pulled his upper body away from the cliff enough to turn around and call up, "Down here! We're here!" The transponders in their arms ensured they were located quickly.

John leaned in the now-open-space behind Rodney's body, and tapped Teyla's shoulder, hard enough to get her attention. "That's not gonna happen. When you're better, you'll tell us the story about how you knew, and why you couldn't speak up. And then we'll put it behind us, like everything else that was screwed up and wrong on Arstaem, clear?"

"That's your answer for everything," Rodney accused, leaning back. John had to yank his head out of the way or get it smushed against the dirt, grass and rocks. By the time he was sitting upright again, he was glaring at Rodney.

"So."

"So, what?"

"So, what's wrong with saying we'll get through it?"

"Because to get through it we have to actually _go_ through it."

Ronon frowned. "Wasn't that what the gym was all about?"

"What about the gym?" Carson asked, looking suspiciously from Rodney to John.

Kate sighed and pushed herself harder against supporting dirt. Maybe it was time to consider a career change.

OoO

John slept peacefully. The only remaining machine was an IV regulator, and Kate knew that would soon be gone as well. Five days post treatment, and Carson said the future looked bright for the colonel's health. He slept a lot, still, which was why Kate was here, now.

She had waited until John's team was away and Carson had left to see to business in his research lab.

She held the book in her arms, and found the chair waiting and welcoming. It had been so very close. The lessons learned, painful and new. A road lay before her, one that she would walk again with John and his team, but it would be very different this time, because she knew what waited at the end of this road.

"I'm sorry, John," she whispered. "I made a mistake, and I can't even promise it'll never happen again, but I'm going to try my best. That I _can_ promise."

Errant strands of dark brown hair hung stubbornly over his smooth forehead, the familiar lines of tension were relaxed in his very deep sleep – probably helped by sedatives. His mouth was curled up, just a little, as if he'd been smiling when he'd drifted off. There was a place deep inside where Kate placed this memory of him. She knew someday it was inevitable that she'd want to remember him like this. Young, and reasonably peaceful.

Here, she didn't see anything in his eyes that made her feel sad.

She breathed deep and opened the book. The folded page marked where she'd left off, back when she hadn't known if John would live or die.

Rodney had once told her that John liked to be read to, but Kate knew now that Rodney didn't truly understand. He didn't have the benefit of her insight. But she did. She knew that when Rodney was reading to John, he wasn't reading for only Sheppard's benefit, but for himself. Sitting by John's bedside and reading familiar words of passion and life, of intrigue and the travails of others, it quite possibly did more for the reader than the one lying in the bed.

And Kate was just selfish enough to claim one more final night in doing so.

OoO

Kate ran into Carson outside the infirmary doors – he was on his way out, and she was on her way in. Or, she had been. She stepped out of his way, but didn't want him to go. "Carson, I was just coming to see you."

"Nothing bad, I hope?"

"No, not at all," she said, smiling the best she could around the partial truth. Kate would've loved to sit with him, to open up to someone else about her fears. But Carson had enough burdens to bear right now, and she didn't want to lay even more at his feet. She was supposed to be helping him, not the other way around. "I was just coming to see how Teyla's recovering?"

She felt cold through the thin, light blue shirt. Maybe that was why Carson always wore his white coat – to stay warm. Kate knew that psychological stresses could cause physical manifestations of symptoms. Everything that was going wrong seemed to be chilling her to the core, and she knew that Carson dealt with far more ugliness in one 24-hour period than she generally saw in a week, or two.

At least Carson's face had some color today – although, maybe it had more to do with being outside recently. Still, Kate liked to see the hint of ruddiness on his cheeks again – anything to chase away the pallor that had seemed to coat the five of them since their rescue from Arstaem.

"She's making a fast recovery. As I thought she would, given the right tools. It was a small bleed coming from a very bruised spleen; it's resolving on its own. A little medical support was all she needed to give her body time to compensate and heal." He smiled briefly, seeing through her facade. "The idea was a good one. What happened was no one's fault. You shouldn't blame yourself."

"Who's the psychologist?" Kate asked weakly, feeling a rush of thankfulness.

"Your job is perfectly safe." The smile didn't quite reach his eyes – almost, though. Enough that it gave Kate hope. He studied her. Odd to be on the flip side of her work, yet, she wouldn't deny the surge of appreciation and gratitude. Carson was probably the biggest mother hen in the expedition. He cared so deeply; Kate had often warned him that it would be his undoing. "Why don't you go see for yourself?"

"No, I shouldn't --"

"Kate, don't think your efforts have gone unappreciated."

She didn't. Not really, it was just that she'd spent the past four weeks carrying the burdens of five other people, and struggling to help them get through very raw and painful emotions caused by events that, back on Earth, might have landed some of them with a temporary stay on a pysch ward. Just for observation. They were victims of crime, and abuse. They carried so much trauma, each with their own problems …it was such a tremendous toll, and she was only one person. She'd had to assume a schedule that left her little time for herself, because in addition to those five, she had other patients to follow-up with.

One thing Kate could say for Atlantis, it was booming business.

She tried to push her thoughts to the side. "I do," she said. "Really."

Carson eyed her skeptically.

"How are you doing?" Kate deflected Carson's attention back on him. Who was it that said a best defense is a good offense? "Because of the camping disaster, you missed your session."

Wistfulness crept across his face and Carson shook his head, as if trying to banish the emotions he was feeling. "I think I've accepted that I'm going to be angry for a good while to come over what happened on Arstaem. For now, I think that's the best I can hope for."

"It's enough," Kate agreed. "The danger immediately following such things is refusing to acknowledge the very real emotions left in the wake of what you all went through." She paused, her eyes following a group of personnel as they passed. The curious looks were still present, but at least they were diminishing and growing more infrequent. Once the people were far enough away, Kate turned back to Carson. "When we first started, every one of you needed to face what happened. Each of you had your own demons to wrestle, and while I wouldn't say every demon is beaten, I'm happy enough to see that most of them are looking fairly roughed up."

"Demons, aye, and I think you've been pulled into watching one too many of the colonel's horror flicks lately?" This time the smile shone in Carson's blue eyes.

Kate laughed, "One or two, but it was the only way he agreed to truly open up to me. One horror flick for one hour of honesty – I'd say it was a small price to pay, but have you watched the one with the chainsaw--"

"Aye," he shuddered, "I've made that mistake once before, when I wouldn't let him leave the infirmary as early as he liked." Carson sobered. "I've got to go brief Elizabeth – do you want to come --"

"No, no," Kate interrupted quickly. "You go. I just wanted to check on Teyla. I've got a lot of work to do, actually."

"You sure?"

"Yes, go, I'll see you tomorrow, same time?"

Carson nodded. "If you need anything…"

"Again, isn't that my line?"

He chuckled and said, "Not just yours this time," as he walked off towards the transporter.

She watched until the doors slid shut, and then curiosity made her turn back and look in the infirmary. Through the doors, she could see Teyla propped in bed, and the other three gathered nearby. Ronon leaned against the wall next to her head, while John sat on the end of her bed and Rodney filled a chair that had been pulled up close, his long legs stretched out to rest against the metal frame.

They were smiling, and talking. She knew they had talked on the ride back to Atlantis. Quiet words that she had striven not to overhear; there had been strong emotions in the aftermath of Teyla's confession. Whatever had been said, it had helped. Kate could see that Rodney's cut had been cleaned; underneath the hem of his shirt sleeve she could see the edges of a white bandage.

Kate lingered. She _did_ have a lot of work to do, but she felt she deserved this – to see them together, talking, joking even. Maybe Teyla's confession had been like lancing an abscess – she'd been feeling so much guilt and pain, and without knowing she was doing it, her feelings had spread to the others even while they had struggled with their own problems.

Now that it was in the open, John was right – they could put it behind them and move forward, and it emphasized exactly what she had told Carson. Feelings can only hurt you when you fail to acknowledge their presence.

That wasn't to say that she couldn't still see the signs of what they'd gone through on their faces, and their bodies. She didn't need to see the physical scars John bore, because they still haunted his eyes. Rodney leaned forward and tapped John on the leg, saying something, and they grinned more, but Kate could also see the desperate edge to Rodney's crooked smile and his exaggerated movements. He still felt like he needed to compensate, and probably would for a while.

Ronon caught her eye and Kate tried to look casual and wave, before turning to leave.

"Kate?" John called.

She paused, debating whether she should ignore him and leave, or turn and see what he wanted. In many ways, she felt like she had failed them, even while she could see that they were going to be okay. She was supposed to help them, and instead, she felt that maybe she'd only been an anchor in the storm. She'd kept them from drifting away, but staying afloat, that had been all them. At least, she thought so.

"Kate, hey!"

Whatever she wanted, she'd waited too long, and to ignore him now would be rude, so she turned and smiled politely. "I just came to make sure Teyla was recovering. I won't intrude on you, I promise – just go back to your talking." It was what she'd spent the last month encouraging them to do, after all. The last thing she wanted was to bring it to a premature stop when they finally got there.

"No, no, come on, we were just talking about the time Rodney almost set a forest on fire during a mission a six months ago. The camping trip disaster brought back some --" a mischievous look twisted his lips, "—good memories."

"Oh, funny," Rodney drawled. His sharp eyes assessed Kate. "But he's right, you should come and sit with us for a while, after all, it's rather comforting to turn the tables on you. Any camping horror stories from when you were a tow-headed child with snot running down your face?"

"Rodney!" Teyla affectionately smacked him on his uninjured arm. "That is rude."

"And that surprises you?"

"Nothing surprises me, McKay." Ronon wasn't looking at Rodney when he said it; he was looking at Kate, and giving her a look that she interpreted as "You're okay, Doc" but maybe that was just wishful thinking, and he was thinking about dinner, or sex, or fighting – with Ronon, one could never be sure.

Surprising herself, Kate did sit in an empty chair next to Rodney. "Actually, I _was_ terrible at camping. Why do you think I majored in psychology? I don't think I could start a fire with a torch."

John made a mocking face. "Not even with a torch? That's a pretty big statement, there, Doc." He raised an eyebrow towards Ronon. "Think we oughta test it out?"

Kate was surprised by the rush of warmth. He was teasing her. How long had it been since she'd felt included in a group? Since she'd left Earth, and left her friends behind, and her family. She hadn't really realized how much she'd missed it before now.

She'd often said that the members of the expedition were like a family. They were isolated here, and all everyone had was each other, but Kate had always felt herself outside that circle. She'd been blind to how much she'd missed that feeling of belonging and acceptance; instead all she'd had was wary respect, casual greetings, and light conversation.

Putting on her best smile, she said, "For the safety of everyone around me, I'd highly suggest we don't."

Who was it that said laughter was the best medicine? Kate figured they were more right than perhaps they would ever know.

OoO

Kate had once asked herself if she could be both friend and psychologist. Leaving the infirmary, where John's team and friends hovered around him and Rodney, Kate knew her answer.

She had been influenced and it had almost cost two lives.

The halls were full of personnel, moving from one job to the other, and Kate nodded at each one, smiled warmly, and kept walking. She stopped by her office and grabbed the five files, poured a cup of coffee from the thermos, and aimed herself for the balcony.

The day was sunny; the ocean breeze just enough to ruffle her papers and lift her hair away from her face. She'd been here before. But, _Oh God_, the changes that just a few weeks could make to one's being.

She pulled the pen from behind her ear, set the other four files to the side and opened the first one.

_**Sheppard, John, Ltcol, usaf**_

_**Addendum: 09-11-05, ESD**_

_**Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard survived an almost fatal, accidental discharge of a weapon on a recent mission (see mission reports Index 098765). **_

_**Information about the cause has led me to recommend Colonel Sheppard's status to remain active, considering the time required for him to earn medical clearance due to his physical condition;, however, therapy will resume with two hourly sessions per week, for a length of time to be determined. **_

_**In light of recent events, it is my professional opinion that the reaction leading to Colonel Sheppard's injury is unlikely to occur again.**_

_**But, I recommend initial missions consist of visiting established allies and uninhabited worlds, at least for the first month after he is physically certified for off-world duties.**_

_**Despite my concerns over any more potential hidden triggers, I have discussed at length with his team and feel that this was a tragic oversight – on my part – and that it is unlikely to happen again. In fairness, ritualized abuse can often evoke triggers in the most harmless of situations. Sometimes it is impossible to accurately predict that you have covered all foreseeable possibilities.**_

_**Though I am wary in allowing him to return to active duty status, it is also my opinion that doing less would be potentially more damaging.**_

Kate finished writing, pulled her pen back and closed the folder with a finality she felt in her soul, and set it aside. She looked upward at the sky and let the fresh air seep into her skin, bathing her battered and bruised emotions. She felt burned, from the inside out – like she'd walked through fire. Maybe, in a way she had.

She had almost lost John – she'd never lost a patient before, and he'd become so much more than just a name on a folder. She'd also set in motion a chain of events that almost cost Rodney his life. Yes, she could argue that if you followed the path backwards, it ultimately ended with Naem. That blame rested on his grave. But there were forks on that path that led to her actions…she had served as a domino in the chain of events that followed, and instead of blocking the way for more falls by making the right choices, she'd crashed into the next domino, and continued the motion.

Almost two months ago, she'd sat on this same balcony and wrote out treatment sheets.

She'd thought about how isolating it was to be the expedition's psychologist.

Then she'd spent six weeks going as deep as one could with five other individuals. By the end, she'd felt for the first time a part of what was going on around her, rather than existing on the fringes.

Clinically, Kate knew that losing that belonging now was going to be hard.

It was going to _hurt. _

But she'd learned something valuable, and one thing Kate counted upon was on-the-job experience. To be effective, she had to maintain distance.

She couldn't be their friends.

She couldn't make that mistake again.

It affected her perceptions and her abilities to properly treat them.

Kate lifted her mug to her lips, and pulled her knees in closer to her chest. The sun was weak and pale this morning; the warmth never seemed to reach her insides on days like today. She drank deep the warmth from the coffee and stared at the puffs of clouds that partially obscured the blue horizon. What she was looking for up there, she wasn't really sure.

Peace, mostly…but maybe something bigger beyond that. Something divine and inspirational, to keep her going after what she'd been through. Something to tell her _you can do this. _Or maybe_, I forgive you._

It wasn't as if she hadn't been alone before.

She could do it again.

Kate just wished she didn't feel like she'd lost something precious.

**The End**


End file.
